Hetalian Creepypastas II
by R.N.Walker
Summary: What started as a meeting of presentations quickly turns into a night of horror and storytelling. The spirit of Halloween is alive once again. A 31-day short-story challenge.
1. Noises At Night

**Hello everyone! Well, this is it: my second and final Hetalian Creepypastas challenge. Like before, I will be posting a series of short creepypastas (Hetalia rendered, of course) each day for the month of October. All stories have been selected beforehand, and you can find each of the original creepypastas online. I hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

Noise. That's all Iceland could hear as he stood in the large hallway. Just noise. Nations chattering with one another more loudly than they really needed to. That's not to say the young nation didn't want them to talk, just…couldn't _anybody_ talk about more relevant and adult topics? Like the two meetings that would be starting in a few minutes? Sometimes he wondered if he was the only mature person present.

"Heya Icy!"Iceland flinched as a hand slapped down on his shoulder. He turned to find Denmark grinning behind him. "Are you ready for your presentation tonight?"

"I guess so," answered the other, "Though why shouldn't I be? I've given plenty of speeches to you guys before."

"Not one to this many diverse countries." Norway walked up to the two, completing the trio of Nordics present for the meeting. "It's not too many of the major nations, though; you should relax. Don't be so nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Iceland frowned, looking away. Denmark laughed.

"We'll see soon enough. Everyone's breaking up now." As was so– nations were splitting off into their respective meeting rooms, the conversations quieting as it was back to business for the world. Iceland followed Denmark and Norway inside one of the rooms as well.

His audience was waiting with nervous anticipation. It was clear by a few's demeanors that this type of global recognition (even if they were only listeners during a meeting) was new to them as well. A small comfort to the Icelandic as he made his way to the front of the room—they were all in the same boat. When he reached to podium, he spotted the subtle nod of encouragement from Norway and the not-at-all subtle thumbs up from Denmark.

Iceland checked the clock on the laptop atop the podium. It was 8:00 on the dot. Time to get started.

"Good evening, everyone. I, Iceland, will be your speaker and presenter for the night. I would like to begin the meeting with a brief overview of the world economy." He tapped two buttons on his laptop to start the slideshow. "What you see now is a summary of the current state of the—" Not even two minutes in and already a hand was raised into the air.

That was fine, just keep calm.

"Yes?" Iceland hoped his voice didn't sound as jittery as he felt…not that he was. "Uh, wait a minute, you are?"

"Um, I-I'm just filling in for big brother," Liechtenstein answered a bit nervously when all eyes turned to her. "But, um, there's nothing on the screen."

Not willing to show his audience the creeping blush of embarrassment, Iceland spun around and checked. As she said, the screen was a blank blue—it apparently wasn't even connected to any of the equipment. But that couldn't be right because Iceland had made sure everything was set up beforehand. All the presenter could utter was a low "…Huh."

"There is nothing to fret," India spoke assuredly, "We can simply call someone for help."

"Does anyone know if a tech is still even in the building?" Cyprus wondered, "It is kind of late."

"Yeah, I think so," answered Bulgaria, his Romanian friend nodding in agreement.

"Then problem solved," smiled Denmark, standing and making his way to an intercom button. He pressed it. "Hello?" A pause. Then…

"This is the front desk. How may I help?" a female's voice reached through the speakers.

"The projector's not working in Room 202 for some reason. Could you send someone to come and fix it?"

"Oh. That again," the woman responded, a bit of sympathy in her tone. "Sorry, it's nothing on your part. There's a problem with the wires connecting that room to the technical room. I'll have someone go and fix it. It will take a few minutes, however. I'll call back when everything is repaired."

"Thanks!"

"So now what?" Vietnam asked as the Dane took his seat.

Cuba shrugged. "Anyone got any cards?"

"I do," replied Monaco, and she gladly took out a deck of playing cards from her purse. Poland eyed her.

"And you just, like, carry around a bunch of cards everywhere you go?" Her defensive reply was prompt.

"You never know when the chance to play a quick round or two will crop up."

"All in favor for cards then?" Taiwan said, "Raise your hand if you are." It was almost unanimous. The only one against merely stared in shock.

"Wait a minute. You all would rather play games?" Iceland questioned them. Weren't they all adults here? Okay, two weren't, he had to admit—Liechtenstein and Moldova—but shouldn't the rest be taking this seriously? Just because he wasn't presenting at the moment didn't mean this wasn't an official meeting of world countries.

Norway lowered his hand. "Iceland is right. We should be more serious about this." Iceland smiled internally at his brother.

"You're probably right," sighed Taiwan, reluctantly lowering her hand as well. Cyprus, Denmark, and New Zealand followed suit.

"Then what should we do in the meantime?" asked Thailand, folding his arms.

Blue eyes alighted with excitement. "Oh! Oh! We can tell creepypastas!" With the exception of Norway and Iceland groaning in exasperation, Denmark's suggestion was met with confused silence.

"Tell what?" India raised a brow.

"They're scary stories," answered New Zealand, his voice hinting of slight amusement. "Australia told me that's what he and some other nations did during last year's meeting when they were locked inside their meeting hall for the night."

"Yeah, and it was so much fun too," Denmark said excitedly. "What do you say we just tell a few stories? Just enough until the projector is fixed." The others seemed to like the idea. Iceland frowned.

"But the projector should be fixed any minute now," he tried to reason.

But Denmark waved him down. "Don't worry, I'll tell a quick one. Something to at least give you a taste of what we went through last time…"

* * *

 **Noises At Night**

 **Based off of "Julia Was a Clever Girl"  
Credited to IPostAtMidnight**

As a young child Emil always knew he was a smart boy. He learned very early how his dear older siblings simply didn't know the answers to everything in life, that they weren't the unstoppable guardians most baby brothers expected their elder ones to be. He learned all this when he was just four years old.

"L-Lu! Lu, Mathy, help!" Naturally, his two brothers rushed into his bedroom only seconds after his cry.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Mathy asked, his voice noticeably alarmed.

"I-I," he stammered, "I h-heard a noise i-in my cl-closet." Immediately Lu strode quickly over to the closet door, yanking it open. He scanned the contents inside with the sharp eyes of an eagle.

"There's nothing here."

"But I heard something in there. I swear!" Mathy patted his head, shuffling his bed hair up even further.

"Well, it's gone now. Try to go back to sleep. We'll be here if you need us." So little Emil tried to hurry back to sleep as his brothers scoured the room and peeked out the window, looking as if they were actually searching for the scary monster that hid in the closet.

But as the week wore on and he found himself crying for them each night to find the source of the noise, he realized that this was all a game to them. And the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Surely they wanted Emil to believe that his all-powerful big brothers were so strong that the "monster" was hiding from them so it wouldn't have to face their wrath. They were probably enjoying the dependency, which was why they never found "it" so they would have to come back the following night to convincingly look again.

Well, Emil wasn't going to play along any longer. It was more than likely just a coat that had fallen. And as for why he heard it every night perhaps one of his brothers was hanging it up loosely on its hanger. There was only one way to find out.

"Lu! Mathy!" Like clockwork the brothers appeared in the doorway, starting their search before another word was uttered. Emil watched them in silence for a few minutes before blurting out, "Okay, stop it."

"Wha—ouch!" Mathy bumped his head on the lid of the toy chest he was peeking in. Rubbing the sore spot, he stood. "Stop what, Emil?"

"Stop pretending. You act like there's something here, but there's not." He frowned at the duo.

To their credit, the brothers didn't look upset for being caught. They did, however, look uncomfortable about something– Lu still glancing at the closet and Mathy double-checking the chest. "Well…just shout if you hear a noise," Mathy mumbled as he and Lu stepped softly toward the door. "Try to go back to sleep."

Emil settled back down under his sheets, muttering more to himself than to them, "Why do you guys keep checking anyway?" He did not expect a response.

"Once," Lu replied, almost as quietly as Emil had spoken, "Your brother Tino thought the noise from his closet was just his clothes falling." He peered down guiltily at his little brother. "It wasn't."

And little Emil, knowing he lived with only two brothers, couldn't sleep a wink the rest of the night.


	2. Whenever You're Curious

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

A noticeable shiver spread through the nations. Even Iceland was a bit impressed by the spooky tale. But only a bit. "And you're saying big brother did this for fun?" gulped Liechtenstein. "That's…that's…"

"Amazing!" shouted Moldova, "This is so much fun! Do you guys do this during every meeting or just near Halloween?"

"If you ask me," spoke Cyprus, "this reminds me a lot of the old days when people would sit together and tell myths of deities and the supernatural."

"True that," grinned Romania. He leaned back in his seat. "But I don't think that story was long enough. No one has called back. Should we keep doing this?"

"Yeah! Another! Another!" cheered Moldova.

"I don't see why not," shrugged the Norwegian. Iceland couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Norway!"

"What?" his brother looked at him, sounding completely unashamed, "You young ones have no appreciation for the traditional anymore. Preferring to learn from advancing technologies than Aesop's and oral teachings." He smirked. "Well, Aesop's have a way of evolving too…"

* * *

 **Whenever You're Curious**

 **Based off of "Where Bad Kids Go" and "1999"  
Credited to their anonymous authors**

"Whenever you're curious, step back and think twice. Whenever you're curious, take heed of the price." That was a phrase my mother once said to me when I was younger and about to do something stupid just to see what would happen. I did whatever it was to sate my curiosity and was promptly grounded. Since then I've always at least considered the consequences of the actions I took. As such, I was a relatively good child afterwards, obedient and having a remarkable amount of self-control.

But there was one thing that always piqued my and every child's curiosity and that was adult programmes. The majority of them came on very early in the morning when even most adults were asleep. Many of the children in my school loved to sneak watches at a notoriously forbidden show: "The Long Gones." Each episode was only about five minutes long, and it was about a group of children trying to reach a mystical island called Elfin, where fantasies were real and having fun was the law, similar to Neverland. Despite the episodes' brevity and the seemingly inane premise, I remember it being an extraordinarily dark show (hence why it came on at such an ungodly hour).

The setup of each low-budget episode was always the same. Two sock puppet children and two real children would be sitting in a tiny rickety boat out at sea, which was simply a stage painted blue with a lighter blue backdrop hanging behind it. The two puppets, both played by some male adult just off the screen, would ask the real kids if they wanted to enter Elfin with them, to which the real kids would usually respond with yes. Then the rest of the episode would be spent talking about how wonderful the island is…or about the "punishments."

This is only the start of how the show garnered its sinister reputation. According to the puppets, in order to reach Elfin you must prove yourself worthy by completing a variety of tests. If you fail the tests, however, you must face a "punishment." Very gruesome and disturbing pictures would flash on screen as the puppets described what happened to those who failed or improperly performed the tests. I cannot tell you what the images were since my mind couldn't comprehend them at the time, but I do know they left me subconsciously traumatized as I now become lightheaded at the sight of blood.

Despite just describing the horrific details of failing, though, the puppets would encourage the kids to try the tests. They promised that Elfin was worth it all, even being unable to see your home ever again because the island was so magical and so wonderful and so _perfect_ you could just wish your friends and family there if you ever start to miss them. Always the real kids would eventually say they'd want to take the tests. Now, what these tests were is unknown; before the puppets would say what the children needed to do the screen would abruptly turn to black, as if someone had to hastily press the record button before a secret was revealed.

When the scene returned, the boat would be facing the opposite direction. In most episodes, the real children would be lying slumped over as if asleep while the puppets would be looking down at them, lamenting. After a few seconds they would turn to the camera and comment how the tests completely wore out the children and now they couldn't finish the rest of them. They would have to go back home before they faced their "punishment" and could try again another time, but this time with the knowledge of what was to come. On very rare occasions, after the show resumed from black, it would just be the two puppets in the boat, them seemingly excited that their new friends passed all the tests and were now on Elfin waiting for other kids to join them. The puppets would then hope to see them again very soon after finding more friends to come.

But those children—whether they were on Elfin or failed their tests—never showed up again. It was always one or two new kids in that boat for each episode. And each time those kids would look either excited but confused or downright terrified of what was going on. I think one or two was even crying, whimpering for their mommy and daddy. The sock puppet children would try to soothe them with promises of Elfin, but if that didn't work then the screen would turn to black earlier than normal. At the time I was more jealous that they got to go to Elfin, not wondering why they would be crying in the first place. But I had to admit that it probably wasn't a programme I should continue watching. There was just something… _off_ …about the sock puppets, the tired children, and even the idea of Elfin itself.

The show aired when I was around five years old. I quit watching it when I was six (though I had to endure all the whispered talk of it by my classmates at school). At the age of seven, while heading home from school one bleak, cloudy day with two of my closest friends, we walked past a shop that was closed for the day. The three of us nearly fainted from heart attacks when the foggy-paned door slowly swung open, the tiny bell inside chiming loudly as it did. One of the puppets from "The Long Gones" poked its head out.

It cooed, "Hey kids! Have you ever heard of a magical place called Elfin?" My two friends who still watched the show immediately exclaimed they had; I felt the surge of familiarity and nostalgia rekindle inside me and, grinning in excitement, I agreed I had as well. "So you know all about how my friend and I are seeking more friends to come with us? Do you want to go there and see it for yourselves? Only we know the way. We can take you there if you want." We nodded, and the puppet beckoned us inside.

 _Whenever you're curious, step back and think twice._

We had raced forward, but I had stopped after taking not more than five steps. The words my mother had said to me just once some years ago suddenly rang in my head. My friends, both just short of crossing the threshold, somehow noticed I wasn't following.

"Don't you want to go to Elfin?" one of my friends asked with mixed curiosity and concern at my hesitation. I told him that I did.

 _Whenever you're curious, take heed of the price._

I stayed where I was at. I couldn't bring myself forward. In fact, I took my mother's words to heart and actually stepped away from the building. "Don't you want to go on fun adventures with your friends?" the puppet tried to coax me. "You can have all that and more; all your heart's content if you want. But you have to hurry! My friend and I have to return to Elfin soon."

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I wasn't ready to go. "I can't. My parents would worry if I didn't tell them first."

"But you can just wish them to the island," said the puppet. "Then they'll know exactly where you are, and you can all have fun together there."

I took another step back. "I don't think I want to try the tests. I don't want to face a punishment if I fail." At that, one of my friends looked stricken.

"He's got a point…" he had muttered.

"We aren't going to fail any tests if we work together," snorted my other friend. "Come on, let's go! I wanna see what Elfin's like!"

"Yes! Yes!" the puppet peeking out the door hurriedly cheered. "It's so much fun! Oh, don't you want to be friends with all the fairies and trolls of Elfin? They're so looking forward to meeting you three." But the more he pushed the bait, the less I wanted to take it. What if we did fail the tests? Then what would our parents do?

"No…I, uh…" I couldn't come up with any more excuses.

"We have to go soon!" Presumably that was the second puppet calling from deep within the shop, but it sounded no further away than the first one, "Hurry up and come on!"

"You heard my friend!" the first puppet said (it was here that I finally noticed that the voices were only marginally different; it was the same person speaking), "Come on in!"

"NO!" I had shouted that, turning from the door and rushing down the street as fast as I could go, not daring to look back. I reached the entrance to my neighborhood what felt like an eternity later. Only when I looked up did I realize that one of my friends had followed behind me, huffing right beside me that chilling afternoon. Neither of us ever mentioned what happened to our parents, terrified we'd be punished for talking to a stranger, let alone a puppet.

It's been eighteen years since that incident. My friends and I had stopped hanging out with each other after that day, almost dropping communication with each other completely since that moment. But just ten minutes ago I received an unsettling email from one of my former friends, the one who ran away with me. The body of the message was some brief information that he was an investigator now and on a case recently reopened about a young girl gone missing almost two decades ago. At first I was utterly baffled why he would, first of all, contact me out of the blue like this, and second, inform me of his case. That is until I saw the attachment to his email. It was a clip from an unaired episode of "The Long Gones" according to the email. Something akin to lead seeped into my gut as I downloaded the video and watched it.

The clip was only ten seconds long. The sock puppet children were muttering something about their new friends being unable to pass the tests. I immediately identified a girl lying slumped over in the boat, no doubt the missing child. And directly below her, barely visible in the grainy footage, I could just make out the "sleeping" form of my friend who'd simply been too eager to see Elfin.


	3. So Real I Could Feel It

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"That wasn't half bad," smirked Cuba before chuckling when he noticed the glare of annoyance coming from the Icelandic. Norway merely shrugged.

"Yeah, I'll admit that was, like, pretty spooky and stuff," said Poland, "But that can't really be taken seriously, right? I mean, come on– scary sock puppets? What's next we're going to talk about? The boogeyman?"

"Who knows," piped up Moldova, "He could be scary."

Bulgaria rolled his eyes. "The boogeyman isn't scary. He's not real." But Moldova tut-tutted him.

"That's what he wants you to think. You're just too old to remember how terrifying he can be…"

* * *

 **So Real I Could Feel It**

 **Based off of "The Dream Man"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

Never more have I been so thankful to be an adult. Why? Because nine times out of ten you forget about the night terrors you had as a kid. You forget about the monsters under your bed, the shadows lurking in the corner, the boogeyman tormenting your dreams. You forget because you realize they're all imaginary; figments created by your more primal state of mind to fill in what might be hiding in the dark.

Well, most of them. The boogeyman might be a different case; I'm not entirely sure. But when I was a child, he was as real to me as you and I are. And I feel that is saying a lot because I prided myself on my imagination. I would spend many hours running around the old, three-story Victorian home we had moved into, exploring the once abandoned mansion. I sought out hidden passageways and secret stairwells– there weren't any, but that never stopped me from believing there were. And when I'd first entered the massive basement downstairs I knew instantly it was to be my own personal toy room.

Naturally, after moving in, I wanted the bedroom on the uppermost floor. My parents found no reason to object, so I was given the small room located at the end of the short hall. It was just past the hallway closet and spare guest room.

Now, as I said before, I had quite the imagination as a kid. So it shouldn't be much of a surprise if I said I had some wild dreams and even wilder nightmares. Oftentimes they were so vivid that I'd have a bit of trouble discerning them from reality shortly after waking up. But dreams are dreams, and soon enough my brain would be able to separate actual memories from fantasized ones.

Except for one.

There was one recurring dream I would have about once every month. As a child with an active imagination it was easy to overlook having such a recurring dream since it happened so infrequently, but even back then I could tell that each one would wind up being a nightmare by its conclusion. How the dream started was always different though irrelevant to how it ended. It'd start with me doing anything ranging from riding a bike to flying in a spaceship, but one way or another I would end up lying in my bed at night, practically mirroring reality. For whatever reason I would be petrified beyond logic, unable to move anything but my eyes. And just at the periphery of my vision I could see an even darker shadow standing right beside my bed.

A voice as cold as a serpent's hiss would suddenly whisper from it, "I'm waiting in the basement tonight." Then a frigid finger would slide across my cheek. The sensation of something that deathly cold actually touching me—the sensation just too sharp to be a dream—would jolt me awake instantly. I'd curl up tight in my bed and hide under the covers. For several minutes I'd be too terrified to go back to sleep yet too scared to go down a flight of stairs to my parents' room. Every small noise was enough to make me shake in fright. But eventually sleep would reclaim me, and when I awoke again that morning the nightmare would be almost completely forgotten until the next month. The nightmare would play again, though there would be subtle changes each time.

Firstly, the shadow would lean ever closer to my bed with each subsequent dream. By the fourth or fifth dream I could just make out half of its face in the moonlight. Peeling, leathery grey skin was pulled tightly over the skull, granting him the surreal appearance of a living skeleton. Crooked teeth hardly concealed by thin cracked lips would glint as they grinned down at me. A single bloodshot eye would leer at me, utterly devoid of any clarity or life. My first impression was that this was an old man about to kick the bucket, but even old men didn't give off the feeling of death itself.

Secondly, the words spoken weren't exactly the same.

 _"I'm waiting in the parlour tonight,"_ he said in the second dream.

But by the fourth he was whispering, _"I'm waiting in the family room tonight."_

It's only in hindsight I realize that he was creeping steadily closer from the basement to my bedroom, but even as a child I was vaguely aware that this entity was becoming more and more of a danger. I had stayed silent on my nightmares for nearly a year now; I had to act before…before…I didn't know what, but I knew it couldn't be anything good.

So at school I told my closest friend, Vlad, everything. Vlad was a year higher than me, so I felt safe in telling him my secret. Just like the older brother I tended to regard him as he was quick to come up with a solution. He invited himself over the following night, coinciding with the next time I'd have the nightmare.

"Are you sure he's going to show up tonight?" Vlad asked me. I nodded.

"Uh huh. The last time I had the dream he said 'I'm waiting in the lounge.'" The lounge was at the bottom of the second set of stairs, meaning tonight he'd finally reach the third floor. We had already established our plan: the moment I woke up from the nightmare Vlad would go out and attack it with the metal bat he hid inside his sleeping bag. If worst came to worst I would have to back him up with my plastic bat.

So we waited. The jitters I felt in my stomach kept me up longer than usual, but eventually I dozed off into a deep sleep. Once more I was paralyzed in the darkness. The hideous face was almost completely visible now, just his left eye still obscured by the darkness as he grazed his finger across my cheek.

 _"I'm waiting in the guest room tonight."_ My eyes snapped open, and I jolted. Vlad was startled awake almost immediately beside my bed.

"Huh? What? Did you have that dream just now?" I nodded, not entirely sure if he could see. I assume he could because he reached for his bat with a determined look.

"Where?" he whispered.

"G-guest room," I tried to respond just as quietly. I slipped out of bed, grabbing my weapon as well. Together we tiptoed down the hall and to the dark, empty room. Vlad slowly pushed the door open.

Even in the darkness we couldn't see anyone inside.

"Maybe we should have brought a flashlight," he mumbled as he stepped inside. I kept watch outside. I noticed something moving on the wall to my right—someone's shadow gliding across the wall, heading down the stairs.

"Vlad!" I whisper-shouted. He followed me to the steps, and I led us down to the second level. We were in the lounge now.

"Why are we here?" he asked. I was about to answer when I spotted the swift movement again. Whoever it was had entered the hallway and likely leading the way to the first floor. I shivered. A sinking suspicion had crept over me.

"I think he's heading toward the basement." I steeled my nerves as we walked down the stairs, past the family room and the parlour until we reached the large door that led to the bottommost floor.

 _"I'm waiting for you right now."_ I gasped out loud. The boogeyman's inhuman voice sounded so real to my ears just now. I glanced to Vlad to confirm I hadn't imagined it, but it was too dark to see any sort of reaction from him. Gripping the doorknob, I yanked open the door to reveal the stairs.

I stepped onto the first one with unprecedented trepidation. When nothing more happened I chanced another step. Then another. And another. As I traversed further into the darkness the faintest feeling of relief ebbed within. Perhaps my dreams had been nothing more than that. Maybe I was worrying for nothing.

Something wrapped itself around my ankle– cold, bony, and rough. I screamed and swung down with my bat but managed to hit nothing. Vlad reached out his hand to try and grab my wrist, but the door seemingly slammed shut of its own accord, blocking him. I was trapped in the darkness, utterly blind and crying in panic. I tried to shake the mysterious snare off me, but it only pulled me further down the stairs, and I hastened to grab the railing bars.

I was sure I was going to die. The boogeyman had me firm in his deadly clutches.

But then, all of a sudden, he let me go. I had about two full seconds to comprehend what happened before the basement door swung open, the lights switched on, and my parents came rushing down the steps, Vlad right behind them. My mother scooped me into her arms, whispering soothing words of comfort as she told me I was alright. My father asked what Vlad and I were doing up and making such a racket at that hour, and I had no choice but to tell them both about my nightmares. They assured me over and over again that it was all nothing but horrible dreams. When I told them of the hand that grabbed and pulled me my father pointed toward a toy I had left on the steps; he said that must have caused me to trip.

But none of that seemed right. I was certain about the voice I'd heard. I was certain about the hand that grabbed me. I was certain about the door closing. But in the light of everything—figuratively and literally—there was no way I could prove what happened was because of the boogeyman.

I started to question my sanity. I tried to talk to Vlad about it at school the following day, but each time the subject of the previous night came up he was either asked away by another of his classmates or a teacher. I never learned of the events from his perspective. My parents reiterated time and time again that all I had was a bad case of night terrors. They gave me prescribed medicine to help me go to sleep. And I never again had that dream about the boogeyman waiting for me in my house. My childhood after that night was more or less normal.

So I grew up accepting the fact that my wild imagination had simply gotten out of hand as a kid. Slowly the overly realistic nightmares were forgotten. It was inevitable since so many people assured me so and there was absolutely nothing to suggest otherwise. And I probably would have continued believing everything had all been a dream if it weren't for what happened this morning.

My daughter was getting ready for school, and as I prepared her breakfast she turned to me and asked, "Daddy, is the boogeyman real?"

"Of course not," I had chuckled, remembering how I used to be scared of that imaginary figment, "He's just something adults created to scare little children into listening to their parents. Why do you ask?"

"Because last night I had a weird dream. A scary old man told me, 'I'm waiting in the closet tonight.'"


	4. Vanity

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

The intercom beeped immediately after Moldova finished his story, earning a few cries of surprise in the process. Iceland let out a silent breath of relief. _Finally._

"Alright then." The woman's voice had returned. "Everything should be in working order now. The tech even replaced a few wires for you."

"Thank you," answered Iceland, eager to get back to his presentation. He moved his cursor and clicked on the play button.

The screen was still blank.

"What is it now?" he mumbled as he jiggled with the cables. Perhaps it really was something wrong on their end? He sighed in defeat. "Does anyone know how to fix projectors?"

Nobody said anything. "Maybe Japan does." Taiwan finally broke the silence.

"It couldn't hurt to ask him," said Thailand, standing. "I'll go see if he's not too busy."

"Yes, please do." Iceland wasn't sure why this was happening to him now at a time like this, but he had to wonder if fate just had a cruel sense of humor. This was becoming more and more embarrassing from his position as presiding presenter. "Why is this happening to me?"

Taiwan pouted. "Oh you, you, you. Ever since the start of this you've been upset over your presentation. Stop thinking about it for a second, why don't you."

"But I'm the speaker. I want to make sure—"

"You can make sure later. Put your pride to the side for just a few more minutes, okay? Trust me, none of us are thinking any less of you because you aren't presenting." She smiled encouragingly at him. Slightly flustered, he reluctantly took his seat at the table. "You know, sometimes it's nice to relax and not worry about your problems. Not to say to ignore them completely, but too much focus on the self is just not good for you…"

* * *

 **Vanity**

 **Based off of "Don't Stare Too Long"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

A young girl, Mei, waited eagerly to receive the treasured heirloom from her mother. When the woman finally emerged from the dusty back room, the girl was all but bouncing in place as she spotted the antiqued wooden box in her hold. But it was with steady hands the girl opened the thin container, taking out the gift inside. It was a handcrafted mirror; its perfectly smooth glass was pristine like a crystal's surface. Mei clutched tightly the handle of her new mirror. Such a wonderful gift for her thirteenth birthday along with the new clothes and makeup the rest of her family gave her.

The following morning she held the little mirror up as she dusted powder onto her face. It was but a light amount as she was still novel to the application of makeup. But she nevertheless felt proud of her work, staring for several minutes at her stunning reflection. When she went out, everyone she spoke to complimented her looks.

"Oh, child, you look stunning!"

"So beautiful!"

Having lived her whole life regarding herself as someone with modest looks at best, Mei was overcome by the praise. She hurried home to re-examine herself in the mirror. Oh yes, she was beautiful, she had to admit. But oh! There was a tiny spot on her cheek, hardly noticeable. But she noticed it. And if she noticed it surely someone else would. Tomorrow she would have to fix that.

The dawn's sunlight was barely streaming through the windows by the time Mei was brushing on more makeup to her face, finishing with a moderate amount of balm. The heirloom mirror was balanced precariously in her lap as she dabbed the makeup on. She had to look perfect. Not until an hour later, when her reflection showed no flaws, did she finally leave the house. Again she was greeted with coos and awe of her looks.

"Such perfect skin!"

"What a glowing complexion you have!"

The next morning Mei was up even earlier to apply her makeup. She could see the thinnest of wrinkles appear around her cheeks thanks to the mirror's clear reflection. She spent three hours getting ready. At one point her mother called out, "Mei, come out so you may have some breakfast." But the girl declined, saying she'd eat later.

When she went out she relished in the adoration and attention.

"My my! You're likely to get any man of your choosing with those looks!"

"You must tell us the secret to your beauty!"

The next morning Mei was up far earlier than before to apply her makeup. Now her eyes had the hint of dark rings beneath them. No! No! She had to be beautiful! She spent five hours preparing her face for the day. Her stomach growled loudly for food and her arms ached to stop moving. But the pain was worth it when she heard the sweet flattery.

That very evening she got ready for the next day. Already her mirror, perched atop her dresser, showed her the deepening wrinkles, the blackish bags, the aging skin. She needed to apply more makeup right away. She spent the whole night trying to beautify herself, but for some reason she was having too much trouble. Every time she concealed one blemish she'd notice another on her reflection. After eight hours of failed application, she fell face forward onto her dresser, exhausted in her vain attempts to look beautiful.

A light, familiar voice chuckled in front of her. Mei jerked awake.

Her flawed reflection smiled across from her. "Come now, Mei," it said, "You can't sleep yet. Don't you want to look gorgeous? Why are you backing out of our exchange now?"

"Exchange?" What exchange? Her reflection's hand suddenly reached for her, passing through the mirror's edge to grab her wrist in an unbreakable hold.

"Silly Mei, the exchange between reflections. The more beauty I show to you, the more of your life you offer to me." It smirked. "After all, vanity comes at a price."


	5. The Homeless Man

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

The moment Taiwan finished uttering the last word, the lights went out. Several nations cried out in fright, including Taiwan herself. One voice, however, was laughing. "Got you!"

"That was mean, Thailand!" Taiwan pouted. The man stepped quickly to the table and took his seat. To his credit, he was looking a little guilty for his prank.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist. By the way," he addressed Iceland, "Japan will be here as soon as he's able to. They have their own matters to settle first, like figuring who should stop the fight that broke out between France and England."

Liechtenstein smiled. "I guess we should consider ourselves lucky that we have someone like Mr. Japan who's very skilled with technology. I can't think of anyone else who might be able to fix the projector."

"Yes, we are lucky," agreed India. "He has a skill unique to him, just like I'm sure we all do."

"I wish I was as knowledgeable about different types of technology and computers like he was," sighed Cuba, leaning back in his chair.

"But you mustn't be envious of another's ability," spoke India, "You should be glad with the one you own, even if you're not always certain how valuable it is…"

* * *

 **The Homeless Man**

 **Based off of "Ability"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

Mumbai is one of the best places my job has taken me to date. Being only a day's travel from my place of birth, New Delhi, I frequent the train station every other weekend to see family and friends. Naturally, I'm bound to meet some interesting people there.

One such person was a homeless man. Every single morning when I made my way to the station he would be sitting in that tiny, easy to overlook pocket between the walls. His only possessions seemed to be the clothes on his back and a small, worn cap baring a few paise. The first few times I saw him I thought he never did anything, but after a while I noticed he'd whisper a word after a person passed him. Curious, I stepped a bit closer after a, to put politely, "large" woman walked by his coop.

"Pig." I was certain that was what he mumbled behind her.

Admittedly, I was surprised he'd say something like that to her, especially considering she was one of the very few people I'd seen to actually give him some spare change. Did he honestly expect others to give him money if he was going to be so discourteous about it?

I leaned against a side wall, pretending to be waiting for someone, when a businessman in a fine suit walked by.

"Human." I certainly couldn't deny that; he was human.

Another woman hurried by, her looking a bit irritable as she rushed to catch her train.

"Crab." I wondered about this strange man and his quickness to judge others. I wanted to hear more, but I had a train to catch myself.

Two weeks later I was back, and the homeless man was still rambling to himself. Quietly and drawing little attention to myself I took my place by the wall.

First to pass was a short stature woman wearing an elegantly colorful sari. The homeless man mumbled, "Shrimp." I rolled my eyes, feigning deaf ears.

The next to go by and, to my surprise, drop a few coins in the hat was a thin lady dressed as a tourist. The homeless man nodded once, and the moment the thin woman left he whispered, "Cow." Now this was odd to me. That woman was much too skinny to be considered a "cow." I'd personally have said "chicken."

Third was another skinny person, this time a male cyclist. The homeless man muttered, "Bean." I held back a chortle.

After him was a fairly muscular man wearing traditional clothes. After he strolled by, the homeless man uttered a low, "Potato." Potato? So were fat people "pigs" and large people "potatoes?" I couldn't stop thinking about the strange man on my trips to and from home. I wanted to know if there was some sort of pattern or reason behind his name calling.

I considered that perhaps he was gifted with some psychic ability. I reasoned that couldn't be _too_ unbelievable, considering the amount of mysticism in this country. Hinduism was the dominant religion; perhaps he was able to see what others were in a previous reincarnation.

Since then I watched the homeless man and started to conclude that I was correct in my assumption. Many times I heard him say to people names like "Goat" or "Fish" or even "Rice." But assumptions weren't enough; I needed to know. So one day I approached him, ready to ask him what he was doing.

As I neared, the homeless man took one look at me and confidently said, "Bread." I smiled kindly, placing a folded rupee into his hat before asking if he had any psychic abilities.

The man smiled warmly. "You are the first person to ask me that, kind sir. Indeed I do have a special gift I was born with, though it's nothing extravagant like predicting the future or the sort. In fact, it's a bit embarrassing."

"Really now?" I was intrigued. "Care to tell me what it is? I promise I will not laugh or think less of you."

"I have the ability to know the last thing someone ate," he chuckled lightly.

I smiled when I realized he was correct. The last thing I had eaten was paratha, or flatbread, for breakfast. I thanked him for his time and went to catch my train. As I passed through the gates I couldn't help but ponder how unique—though ultimately useless—such an ability was.


	6. Queen of Hearts

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

There was stunned silence as everyone let the final words wash over them. Eventually Poland broke it with a blunt and unanticipated, "I don't get it." India faltered slightly.

"Was there something wrong with my story?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, "But it just wasn't scary like the other stories for some reason." India was a bit put off by what he said, but Thailand placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder.

"Well, I thought it was creepy," he stated.

"Me too," added Bulgaria.

"Me three," nodded New Zealand. India smiled at them.

There was a knock on the door. Only too eager to continue—or rather, _start_ —his presentation, Iceland went to open it. As he'd hoped, the person he needed most was standing outside. "I'm sorry for not being able to come sooner," said Japan as he bowed and entered the conference room.

"It's fine," replied the Icelandic, "Just tell me you can fix this projector."

"I'll see what I can do. Please," he addressed the others here, "don't mind me. You can continue doing what you were before." And he immediately got to work messing with the cables and buttons on the machine.

"Alright. So who's next?" grinned Denmark. Several in the group likewise looked around in eagerness. Iceland groaned.

"No. No more creepypastas, Denmark. They're nothing but a waste of our time."

"Huh?" Japan paused, "So that's what you have been doing this whole time? Telling creepypastas?"

"And guess whose bright idea that was," grumbled Norway, leering at a particular Dane.

"You're one to talk," Iceland reminded him.

Monaco chuckled lightly. "I, personally, am enjoying this; it's but harmless fun."

"Harmless?" spoke Cyprus, "You don't think this is a bit much for the kids?"

"I'm not scared," Moldova immediately piped up; Liechtenstein nodded in agreement. Monaco smiled.

"See? Harmless fun. It's only when you take that fun too far I get concerned…"

* * *

 **Queen of Hearts**

 **Based off of "Gambling Problem"  
Credited to Rahwen**

I am known as the Queen of Hearts. I am the ruler over all games. Poker, rummy, roulette, mahjong—if you can name it, I have mastered it. I have no need to cheat; my level of skill took three family generations to perfect. Still, I've been accused of possessing either undetectable technology or black magic to obtain my wins. I've been called everything from a genius to the Devil himself.

But like a queen, I need a kingdom to reign. Thousands travel to meet me at my castle, my casino. My servants are the best in the land; I personally searched out the top dealers in various countries to help run my business. They entertain the guests; I watch on from above. My court is always abuzz, and I enjoy it when my people are happy and having fun.

But sometimes a fool wanders into the hall. They aren't distracted by the flashing machines or the dealers' tables; no, they wish to challenge the queen herself. One such jester was a cocky young man who claimed to have never lost a game. He was causing quite the ruckus as he tried to draw me out through taunts and by disturbing other gamblers. I watched through the window as my knights, my security, kept the man from entering my chambers.

"Sir, step back. You are not authorized to be back here."

"Ah, so what? She's back there, isn't she? Is the little princess scared of losing?" he sneered.

What an uppity brat. So be it. I called the head of security directly. I asked him to grant access for the man. My loyal knights were hesitant at first to let such a hooligan in, but they obediently followed my orders. The red-haired man smirked as he sauntered through the curtain.

I sighed and rose from my throne. I'd much rather be enjoying the sight of others playing, but I had peace and order to uphold. From my office was a quick march to the special room I had prepared for these occasions. A special room with long red curtains and tall red chairs and soft red carpet. Beautiful. I knew my guest would be arriving soon; the stairwell leading from downstairs straight to the challenger's seat wasn't long.

Exactly on cue the young man threw apart the velvet curtains, one of my knights close behind him. His hazel eyes glinted as he quickly studied me. "Wow, you really are a little princess." I paid no mind to his jab at my stature; I was used to such insults.

"What do you want?" I asked coolly. A queen has little patience for tomfoolery, especially in her own castle.

"I just want to challenge you to a little gamble, see if you're the real deal or not. Though, frankly, you don't look like much." He took a seat in the chair, leaning back with legs kicked onto the casino card table. My knight stood directly behind him.

"Neither do you." My calm statement was returned with an annoyed scoff.

"Trying to be cheeky. Well, since this is a gamble, we gotta make some wagers. If I win, then you have to publicly renounce yourself of that stupid 'Queen of Hearts' title and acknowledge me as the person who beat you."

My eyes went narrow. "This casino is all my family has left. To renounce myself of that title will spell the end of our livelihoods."

"Oh boo-freakin'-hoo. That'll just mean you'll have to work like the rest of us."

I greatly detested this fool.

"Very well. If I lose, I will forsake my title and declare you the 'King' of the gambling world. But—" I took out a sealed pack of cards from within my vest pocket. "—if I am to be wagering my livelihood, it is only fair that you wager yours." I hardened my glare, wanting him to be fully aware of the consequences. "Do you swear on your life you want to continue?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's a deal."

I tossed the man the unopened cards. "Since you are the challenger, you may decide the game. It may be any card game you want." He opened the pack and studied each card to make sure I hadn't tampered with them. Then he smirked.

"Any game, huh? In that case…" He shuffled the deck and placed it on the tabletop. He then swiped his hand over it, sliding the cards out until they were all lying face-down in a semi-circle on the table. The man then picked up three random cards. "You see, I'm not stupid. I know you're skills are top-notch. So I figured just now that instead of testing my skills against yours, I'd just make sure you couldn't use yours at all. This is entirely a luck-based gamble. You have one shot to guess the three cards in my hand." He grinned triumphantly.

This poor, poor fool. Did he honestly believe he held the advantage in a luck-based game? A true gambler has to master more than just skill and luck. There are many, _many_ factors that are at work when fate determines who will win a gamble. Factors that most mortals know nothing about and can never comprehend. Factors that only a select few on the planet can manipulate.

I didn't hesitate in my response. "You hold the Three of Hearts, the Eight of Diamonds, and the Jack of Spades." To most, his expression of incredulity would have been humorous, but to me it only reminded me of a talentless child realizing he had no skill to begin with.

"YOU CHEATED!" he screamed. He was about to lunge at me, but my loyal knight grabbed him around the chest, keeping him pinned in place. "LET ME GO!"

I stood up calmly. His face was reddened with anger and humiliation. A much more befitting sight. "A deal is a deal. I require your livelihood as payment." I pressed a small button beneath the table, and the longest red curtain behind me rose. The red on the man's face almost instantly drained to white.

"W-wait, are those…?"

"You may pay through any of the suits." I knew already that on the wall were the marks of several suits. And below each suit was a particular item: under the Spade, the Diamond, and the Club was a sword, an axe, and a mace, respectively.

"H-hold on! You can't be serious!" The court's fool began to panic and struggle in his confines. Useless. I had complete confidence my head of security could keep him down. I, however, was more interested in picking up the cards before they were soiled by his payment. "This is illegal!"

"You made the bargain," I reminded him, eyes still towards the table.

"SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

"Soundproof walls," I spoke with slight impatience. "Now hurry and choose your method of payment."

His eyes scanned desperately for some path to escape, though they always landed back on the suits every few seconds or so. Finally he stammered out, "H-h-hey now! I can choose a-any of the suits?"

"Yes," I answered hurriedly, grabbing the last of the cards.

"Then I choose Heart!"

I paused, my fingers curled lightly around the card of my namesake. I slowly put it and the others back down. "Very well."

My knight released his hold on the fool and took a hurried step back. I pulled quickly from my breast pocket and fired the small pistol with pinpoint aim before the man could even hope to rise from his seat and run. The bullet, small and spherical, took out most of the heart in that instant of impact. Just as he'd wanted. The stream coming forth from his chest and pouring onto the chair and carpet just added to the stains already on them. But at least the cards weren't sullied.

I sighed, putting the gun back inside the pocket. I was supposed to be the Queen of Hearts, not the Executioner of Jokers. I'll deal with him later.

Right now I wanted to go back to my throne and enjoy watching my other subjects having a good time in my castle.


	7. I Am So Happy

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

Cyprus paled. "Okay…whoa…"

"That ended differently than what I expected." Vietnam was doing a better job at masking her shock. And poor Liechtenstein was shivering.

Cuba stood and hurried to her side. "Hey, are you okay? We're not scaring you too much, are we?" But Liechtenstein held up her hands.

"Oh, no! Please don't worry about me. I'm just a little cold, is all."

Denmark grinned mischievously. "Maybe there's a ghost in the room." He waved his fingers in front of his youngest brother.

Iceland scowled, shoving his hands away. "Stop joking around. Ghosts aren't real." Norway, frowning slightly, opened his mouth to speak. Surprisingly, though, Japan beat him to it.

"Actually…" he murmured, still trying to fix the projector, "that's not such an improbable thought."

"Hold on– Japan, you believe in ghosts?" New Zealand raised a brow.

"I'm more concerned to know if it's friendly or not," Taiwan scooted her chair closer to Thailand.

"We can try talking to it," suggested Romania.

"I think we should just leave it alone," replied Japan, "We never know what a spirit's true intentions are…"

* * *

 **I Am So Happy**

 **Based off of "Sunashimi"  
Credited to RocketCombo**

People often reminisce on their childhood years as the happiest moments of their life. For me, however, the memories from that time will haunt me until my dying breath.

When I was a boy I attended the local Japanese elementary school. Being the shy child I was, I made few friends, but with the ones I did I shared a bond so strong that I felt like we had to have known each other since always. And this couldn't have been truer than with one boy in particular.

"Honda! Look at this!" Alfred showed me his latest test score, his face alit. "See! Perfect score!" I smiled at my friend.

"I told you you could do it, Alfred. Now you'll be getting that new game, right?" My best friend grinned widely in excitement and nodded.

"Mom and dad promised I could if I did well on my math test. I can't wait to show them." We walked to the art room together like we always did. "How'd you do on your test?"

"Full marks as well," I assured him. Alfred laughed aloud, so proud of both of our accomplishments. I could tell he was eager to brag about it to the others in the art club. The trip down the stairs and to the art room didn't take long at all. Inside, our friends were waiting. Without wasting any time, Alfred held up his paper. The older members of the club congratulated the both of us (once Alfred made note that I received the same score), and the ones in our grade level reminded him that it was only one test. Alfred took that as a form of them being jealous.

It was shortly after that we started doing our club activities, which consisted of more than just drawing pictures if you must know. Truthfully I have forgotten what several of them were, but even if I hadn't the details of them are unimportant. What is important is what we did after our club was over.

Our school was what you might call 'haunted'. Now that I think back, that is exactly what it was. But at the time the word didn't feel right to us. Every student knew of the ghost that lingered on the first floor. To be more precise, it was found in the very art room our club gathered in weekly. But unlike the spirits in most horror movies and stories, this ghost all the children liked, especially us younger students. Whenever something good happened to us or we were feeling particularly joyful, we would go to the front corner of the room, right by the chalkboard, and say "I am so happy!" A small voice, spoken drearily and in a whisper, would call out, "I am not." From that point, whoever had summoned the spirit would ask if there was any way to cheer them up. The spirit would never respond to any of our offers though.

It became a game of sorts to figure out what could make the spirit happy.

Naturally, since our club was over, we all headed to the corner. One of the older students who'd won his team the baseball game last weekend started the ritual. "I am so happy!" he said with a grin on his face.

We waited with anticipation, a nervous buzz zipping through us. Then—

"I am not."

"Tell us what will make you happy," the boy continued, "Do you want to see the trophy?"

No response.

"Do you want to draw a picture?" a girl younger than me asked.

No response.

"Do you want to play in the park?" another student questioned.

No response.

This continued until we each made one suggestion. After I had given the final suggestion the first boy who started the ritual called out, "We're sorry we can't make you happy. We'll ask again later." And then we packed up our things and left.

"You know," Alfred said to me as we stepped outside and walked home like always. Our houses were not far from the school, so we could walk by ourselves as long as we were together. "I really want to know what'll make that spirit happy. It can't be much of an existence having to stay in the art room all the time feeling miserable. I wonder why it's there in the first place."

I shook my head. "I agree, but no one knows why it's there. Perhaps it used to be a student who died or something." I didn't believe that; no one has mentioned anything of a death since our school's opening. Alfred shrugged.

"Maybe." I could tell he didn't believe it either. "Anyway, I hope we find out soon." His smile was radiant but his eyes told of his impatience, and I knew what he was thinking about. He was moving back to America in two week's time. Well, technically, he was moving _to_ America. While his parents were foreigners he himself had been born in Japan with U.S. citizenship. But he wanted to solve this mystery before he left.

"Don't worry, there's still time," I assured him. He nodded. We parted after that to our respective homes.

The days flew by. Before long it was Alfred's birthday. I remember because Alfred would be moving the following day. I was waiting for him in the art room. We had no meeting that day but I'd promised to wait for him there until he finished his conversation with one of the teachers. They were probably wishing him a safe travel. While it hurt to be losing my dearest friend, at the same time I felt a twinge of gladness. Alfred had always spoke fondly of the homeland he'd never seen (he probably got those feelings from his parents). In a way he was finally going to experience how great of a country it actually was. This would be like a dream coming true. And it was for that reason I was happy for him.

Happy.

I stared at the corner of the art room before deciding to finally go there. I was glad there weren't any teachers nearby; the ritual never worked whenever there was an adult present. With the thought of my friend's future in my mind I chuckled, "I am so happy!"

There was the typical silence. And then—

"Are you alone?"

I froze.

The smile on my face slowly fell. A sudden, ominous chill shot up my spine. For a few seconds I couldn't speak. This wasn't part of the ritual.

In all my years at that school, I never once considered the spirit to be a malevolent one. Aside from the children who asked it questions it never interacted with any human being. We thought it benign. Even Alfred, normally terrified of everything supernatural, had no problems conversing with it.

So why now this change? What spurt it on to ask this question instead of the normal "I am not"? Those were the thoughts that ran through my head at the time.

Another icy spike shot through my spine, and I wondered briefly if the ghost was growing impatient for an answer. I didn't know how to respond. I was scared beyond reason.

Finally I stammered, "N-No, I am with a friend." The spirit said nothing. I suddenly realized I wanted nothing more to do with the presence. "I-I'm sorry I can't make you happy." And I rushed out of the room as fast as I could. I ran all the way down the hall, not caring that I was leaving Alfred behind. I just needed to get as far away from that room as possible.

I crashed into someone in my plight to escape. "Ugf! Honda, watch where you're going." I had knocked both Alfred and myself to the ground. I stumbled to stand and hurriedly held my hand to help him up. He took it. "Bro? What's wrong? Why're you so nervous?"

I opened my mouth. "I—" I paused. Was it worth telling him? He would be leaving tomorrow afternoon. With the sole exception of the surprise party being thrown by the art club members he wouldn't be entering the art room. There wasn't any need to make him fear a room he wasn't likely ever going to see again. A voice in the back of my mind screamed at me to tell him though, to warn him at the very least. I considered the voice.

I ignored it.

"I…I grew worried where you might have been. You were taking a long time."

"Oh. Some of the teachers were just giving me farewell cards." He smiled embarrassedly. "Sorry I made you worry. Hey, wanna' come to my house to play some videogames? I'm sure with your help we can beat the final boss together." I was grateful for anything that could serve as a distraction. We went to his home that evening. During my stay I couldn't stop the growing unease of terror.

The next afternoon I was guiding my friend to one of the empty upstairs classrooms. The art club was still preparing the room for the party, and it was my job to keep him away until they were done. "Why do we have to go upstairs? You know we don't meet there."

"They, um, need you to perform a very special task," I said the first excuse that popped into my head.

"Really?" We entered the empty room. "Tell me, Honda, are you all planning to throw a surprise party for me?" I flinched at how he could have possibly known. He laughed when he saw my stunned expression, though I was surprised by how guilty it sounded. "Sorry, bro. I saw the text message on your phone during lunch period. I didn't want to tell you and make you feel like it was your fault or anything." Nonetheless I felt ashamed that it was my carelessness that caused him to find out and ruin the surprise we had been planning for weeks. "Hey! Don't worry." Alfred had grown alarmed at my silence. "I can still act surprised. I mean it's not like I know _what_ kind of surprise party it is. Please don't be sad." I knew he didn't want one of his final memories with me being one where I was feeling sorry for myself. So it was for him I pushed back my shame and put on a smile. "Thanks, bro."

As much as I wanted to stay and keep him company I needed to help the others with the preparations. I was confident they were close to ready, so I told Alfred that if I wasn't back in ten minutes to fetch him he should head over to meet us. He nodded, saying he understood. Even from where I was standing I could see him practically bouncing on the heels of his feet in excitement and anticipation. I laughed quietly to myself.

I raced to the art room. I admit that I wasn't nearly as worried entering the room as I had been the previous day. Firstly, there was going to be a teacher present, and he was going to help us hang the banners and light the cake Secondly, since this was Alfred's last day, all attention would be given to him and not the ghost. Lastly, if for whatever reason the teacher did step out and we decided to summon the spirit while he was gone, there would be too many of us present for something bad to happen.

None of those failsafes mattered, though, when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I took it out and read the message sent to me:

" _Had to move surprise party to classroom 2-4"_

I felt my heart rate quicken. No, I'd thought to myself, I was being irrational. There was nothing to be scared about. In fact, holding the party in a different room was probably the best thing that could happen. Now there was no chance of summoning the ghost.

I made my way to the new location, more than pleased to find that the preparations were in fact mostly done. I helped with what remained.

"Ah! Oh no!" One of the first-year girls cried out only a few minutes after I'd arrived. We all turned to see what the matter was. She had bumped into the cake, knocking it over and it leaving a mess on the floor. Immediately several members began to chastise the crying student, but the rest of us tried to calm her down. The teacher was even willing to drive to the nearby bakery and buy another one. We all offered to pay him back as he left. We quickly went to work cleaning up the mess.

The moment we finished wiping up the last of the cake frosting we heard a tremendous _BANG!_ coming from somewhere down the hallway. We all jumped at the noise. It sounded like someone had thrown a piece of furniture against a wall. "What was that?" the club president frowned. She stood up and poked her head outside. "Hello?" There was no answer. Apprehension grew within me and I glanced at the clock. I paled.

I was supposed to have picked up Alfred five minutes ago.

"Excuse me!" I breathed as I pushed past the president. For reasons that to this day I cannot explain I started to cry. The tears simply fell down my cheeks as I hurried up the stairs to the classroom I had left Alfred in. I knew he was an impatient boy, but I prayed that he at least had the curtesy to wait an extra five minutes for me.

I threw open the door. "Alfred?"

His bag was inside. But he himself was not.

"Alfred, where are you? Please stop hiding." I received no answer. In desperation I checked every possible hiding spot in the room. There was just no trace of him. A numbing coldness overtook me. My breaths were so shallow I was growing dizzy from lack of air. "Al…" My legs moved automatically. In seconds I was back at the classroom, panting heavily. "I…I can't find…Alfred…he's gone." The other club members stopped what they were doing. The president and five others followed me back upstairs to help search for my friend. But there was no other soul on the second floor.

"Do you think he's in the art room?" the president wondered. My heart nearly seized. As we walked down the stairs at a brisk pace, I prayed to every higher being I could think of that Alfred wasn't there. Time dragged to an agonizing crawl. My blood was pounding through my veins, creating a high-pitched ringing sensation in my ears. My skin itched in the way it does when you know that something is very, _very_ wrong. I gulped, feeling the cold sweat steadily begin to creep through my skin.

We rounded the corner. The door to the art room was in full view straight down the hall. And in less than a minute it was directly in front of me. With a trembling hand I opened it. The lights were off, so someone had to switch them on. I peered around the room with wide, terrified eyes.

Alfred wasn't here either.

We all took in the sight. "Do you think he went home?" a girl asked aloud.

"No, no we always walk home together," I answered shakily, my panic rising. She must have sensed it because a moment later I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"We'll find him, Honda. Alfred has to be around here somewhere." I could only stand in place as the rest explored the room. Where had my best friend gone? What had happened to Alfred?

Something in my peripheral caught my attention. Slowly I let my eyes drift to the left. Something was lying by the side of the door.

It was a stool knocked over, having been thrown judging by the indents on the wall.

I could hardly breathe. "E…everyone…"

"Hey, Honda, check this out." The other students had gathered by the blackboard, at the end nearest the spirit's haunt. With dread I went over to see what they were all looking at. There, nestled in the very corner of the chalkboard and written in tiny, barely legible script was a message:

" _Now_ I _am so happy!"_

My memory from that point is a bit hazy, but I believe I had fainted because the next thing I can remember is waking up in the arms of the teacher, distress etched on his face. He asked if I was okay, that they had already called for an ambulance, and I should remain calm until they come. I only nodded dumbly at his words. I couldn't think. I could barely react. All I could feel was a cold, numbing emptiness in my chest like someone had ripped my heart out and made no effort to replace it.

The ambulance came. The party was cancelled.

It's been twenty years since then.

I never did find out what happened to Alfred.


	8. What Was That?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

Denmark chuckled nervously. "Oh right…I forgot you're really good at this. Your story last year was pretty disturbing as well."

"I don't even want to know what that one was about," muttered an ashen Cyprus.

"Okay, like, new rule– Japan, you totally can't tell any more creepypastas."

"Uh, Poland, he's just told a creepypasta. By default he's not supposed to tell any more."

"Yeah, he's right," Romania nodded in agreement with India, "Besides, I don't think I want another story dealing with ghosts anytime soon."

"Agreed," said Thailand, his quaking almost unnoticeable. Almost.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of a few ghost stories," teased Bulgaria, smirking. But the Thai man shook his head.

"Ghost stories are perfectly fine. It's ghosts themselves that scare me. They're the worst."

"I don't know," muttered Vietnam, looking a bit thoughtful, "I think humans can be so much worse…"

* * *

 **What Was That?**

 **Based off of "It's Just the House" and "The Licked Hand"  
Credited to Dubiousdugong and its anonymous author, respectively  
**

Lien and her fiancée Nguyen An were sitting peacefully on the couch, watching the horror movie that was playing on television. In Lien's lap was their beautiful baby daughter, fast asleep and snoring so softly and cutely. Lien cuddled her closer, paying no mind to the murderous psychopath on the screen.

"You're not really watching this, are you?" Nguyen An asked, one brow raised in curiosity. The young woman shook her head.

"No. These types of movies don't interest me." Their daughter whimpered and stirred. "Please turn before Kim wakes." Nguyen An obliged, switching to another channel right before little Kim opened her eyes. The child cooed for her mother. Lien kissed her gently on the forehead. "Did you sleep well, little one?"

A jarring creak sounded from above them.

"What was that?" Lien sat upright, unconsciously clutching her daughter more tightly. The girl squirmed, uncomfortable.

"Probably the house settling," answered Nguyen An, who was not as alarmed by the noise. "The original owners did say it was old." He grabbed her arm. "Relax, dear. You're just upset because of the movie." Lien bit her lip nervously. She reluctantly leaned back in her seat.

"Perhaps you're right."

Kim started to cry.

"Maybe we should head to bed," sighed Nguyen An, flipping off the television. With it off, the only light source in the entire house was the light from the hallway.

"Don't you have to go in to work early tomorrow?"

"Yes. But I'll make sure to make some breakfast for you before I go."

"You don't have to," smiled Lien.

"I want to." Her fiancée kissed her on the lips. Nguyen An took the little child from her mother's arms. "Say goodnight to mommy." Kim looked up at him with baffled eyes. He laughed and lightly gripped her tiny wrist, causing her to wave. Lien chuckled as the other two entered the baby's room. She went for her bedroom, changing into her nightgown. As she slipped into bed, she heard another creak, louder than before.

"Nguyen An! Nguyen An!" Her fiancée appeared at the doorway. "I heard the noise again. It sounded closer."

Nguyen An frowned. "Well, I didn't see anything down the hall. Maybe it was the floorboards or the house settling again." Lien didn't believe that, but she couldn't think of what else it could be. All that mattered to her was that nothing happen to her little baby; she couldn't stop herself from being worried. She waited warily for the other to undress and get into bed. "Good night, my love."

"Good night, dear." Both went to sleep.

After several hours, when it was so late it was morning, another creak resounded through the still house. This time it was followed by Kim's cries. Lien stirred, still very sleepy but nonetheless concerned. "Nguyen An?"

"Hm?" Judging by the languid response, he had been awoken by her voice and not the baby.

"I heard that noise again. And now Kim's crying." Nguyen An sighed.

"I'll go check it out." He lethargically climbed out of bed, scratching his side as he exited the room. As he disappeared from sight, Lien wondered anxiously what woke their daughter up. But it was late and she was still tired, and after thirty minutes the crying stopped.

But Nguyen An didn't return. Lien waited, but after an hour or so she rolled over and decided to go back to sleep. More than likely her lover was rocking Kim until he was sure she wouldn't wake back up; the baby always loved when they did that. Ten minutes later she felt Nguyen An slip wordlessly into bed. She mumbled something along the lines of, "Sorry dear…must've been the house again…" before she was fast asleep once more.

Just before the sun rose, Nguyen An rushed out of bed and hurried to work before Lien had a chance to wake up and wish him a good day. Instead, when she got up an hour later, she found something very wrong. Kim usually started their mornings with hungry wailing for food. And Lien had slept in; never had the baby been silent this late in the morning.

"Kim!" Lien rushed out of bed, grabbed her robe, and dashed to her baby's room. When she threw open the door, she found her daughter fast asleep in her crib, her snoring so softly and cutely. Lien let out a relieved sigh and smiled. Quietly, she closed to door.

She headed for the kitchen. When she entered the room, she screamed, her earsplitting shriek almost shaking the house. Before her was the mutilated remains of Nguyen An, his limbs severed and thrown haphazardly into a large pot. Blood was splattered everywhere on the walls and floor, though most of it seemed to be collected in a tall glass cup. Contrasting all this was the table with the clean white plates and bowls set on it. And in front of the pot was a hastily scribbled note, almost unintelligible because of the messy handwriting and smeared blood:

 _At least he was able to make you breakfast_


	9. Beware The Woods

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

The door creaked open. Several nations jumped in fright.

"Ciao, everyone~!" Italy pranced into the room, Germany walking in right behind him. The Italian pounced on his Japan friend. "We were wondering what was taking so long. You've been gone for a while."

"Sorry, but I'm having a little trouble fixing their projector. I'm still not sure what the problem is."

"And you tried calling for technical help?" Germany asked the group in general. Iceland nodded.

"Yes. They couldn't fix it either."

"So we've just been telling each other creepypastas," Moldova said excitedly, "Want to join us?"

"Telling creepypastas? Oh, like that game we played last year?"

"It wasn't exactly a game," stated Japan.

Italy smiled. "Well, I thought it was. I liked playing that game, even though it was pretty creepy. It sort of reminds me of another game…"

* * *

 **Beware the Woods**

 **Based off of "A Game of Flashlight Tag"  
Credited to TwilightSparrow**

I remember when I was eight my best friend and I would play with the rest of the neighborhood children. We created our own sort of game that could only be played at night. The rules were very similar to cops and robbers: one person was the "policeman" and had to find as many players as they could with a flashlight. To make it harder for the "policeman", the only way to "arrest" the "robbers" was to correctly identify who they were. Furthermore, the "robbers" had a torch of their own which they could pass around to one another. And if the "robber" with the flashlight reached the designated area, or "jail", and called out a caught player who was there, then that player could escape. The game ended when the "robber" holding the flashlight at the time was caught.

Like I said, this was a game really only enjoyed by the neighborhood kids. But thankfully there were a lot of us: Me, my best friend Lutz, my older brother Lovino, his best friend Antonio, Anotnio's close friends Francis and Gilbert, Gilbert's girlfriend-not-girlfriend Eliza, Eliza's actual boyfriend Roderich…it was like the list never ended. And I was happy to have so many friends.

One fairly cloudy night, many of the kids gathered in my and my brother's front yard. We decided very quickly where the boundaries for tonight's game were—the woods bordering the edge of our back yard and the rose hedge beside Mrs. Beaumont's garden over six houses down. Everything between those two spaces was fair game.

"Alright, Feli, you lost the stick draw, so you have to be the cop this round," Lovino smirked. I pouted slightly. I may be fast, but that was a lot of running I'd have to do; there were ten of us playing tonight, including the twin brothers who'd recently moved into the neighborhood.

Lutz gave me an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "It'll be fine. Just don't slack off and you should win." I smiled at his words.

"Ve~! Okay then! I'll start counting!" As I closed my eyes and my friends scattered, I tried to deduce where each of them would hide. Both Lovino and Roderich preferred hiding out near wherever the game started, not wanting to have to go out so far. Lutz was the exact opposite, frequently concealing himself as far away from the "cop" as he could. Eliza liked going behind the shed in Mr. Kauffman's yard. Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert were often harder to find since they preferred running around and concealing themselves in darkness than hiding in one location. And I had no idea of the twins' patterns.

"Twenty-nine…Thirty! Alright, here I come!" I ran back around toward my house. As expected, there was Roderich attempting half-heartedly to hide behind the chair on the patio. I pointed my light at him. "Roderich! You're under arrest." The boy sighed.

"More like I turned myself in," he said. I chuckled since he was right; the patio was also the "jail" this round.

Leaving him, I ran a full circle around my house but couldn't find Lovino. Perhaps he didn't want to be caught so soon. I extended the search to the house across the street, checking over my shoulder from time to time to make sure no one was trying to slip by with my back turned. No one was crouched behind my neighbor's van. I looked in two more yards ending up with similar results.

Snickering behind me caused me to turn, and I saw three distinct shadows scamper behind my house. I grinned knowing who they were. All I had to do was identify them before they could free Roderich. I raced back to my home.

"Kesese! Roderich's free!"

"Drat!" I was too late. Roderich and the others were gone when I finally zoomed around the bend. Perhaps he was on his way to Eliza's hiding spot. I hoped so. And I really hoped those three gave him their torch thinking I'd go after them first.

A noise drew my attention. Unsure why, I aimed my light toward the woods. I could hear the soft clicks of something mechanical. I crept towards the sound, trying to figure out what it was. It sounded like a switch repeatedly being flipped. I held my breath as if that would reduce any excess noise I could make. After another click, a beam of light abruptly pierced through the woods before quickly being switched off. So their flashlight had a short in it. I laughed inwardly to myself; they must have thought I'd left.

Then I frowned.

These woods were off-limits. And as tempting as it was, no one ever hid in the woods while we played (well, actually, there was one time when Gilbert was the "cop" and hid in the woods to jump out when a "robber" ran past, but we all agreed since then that it was too unfair to use the woods). I aimed my light through the trees, curious who it could be. "Come on out. You're not allowed to hide in there, remember?"

The light in the woods switched back on, and I could see the shape of a person's arm poking out from behind a thick tree several yards away. But they did not move.

"Please come out. It's no fun if you cheat." But the person remained where they were. I figured the only way to make them leave was to "arrest" them. Huffing slightly and reasoning it had to be one of the twins, I dashed into the woods. The person with the light bolted. I was a bit caught off guard by how quick they were. But I knew I was quicker.

"Hey hey! I got you! I got you!" Technically they weren't caught, but it was only a matter of time. "You can't run from me!" Except they could. No matter how fast I ran, they seemed to be too far out of reach. I would have lost them several times over had it not been for their light. And I was tiring. "Hold…on…" I placed my hands on my knees, panting for breath. That's when I took the time to look around at my surroundings.

I was lost.

"Um…l-let's go back," I called out to the other player. I got no response. And it certainly didn't help when they suddenly turned off their flashlight. I gulped in the near complete darkness. "Th-th-this isn't f-funny anym-m-more," I stammered so badly. My legs were quivering with fright.

I heard a twig snap.

I screamed. I didn't care if the other person would end up lost at this point, I was out of there. I ran with all the energy I had left toward where I thought the exit was. Footsteps of crunching leaves were behind me. They were heavy, my terrified brain realized. Much too heavy to be a child's. "Somebody help me!" I shouted.

The footsteps were gaining. I was losing breath. I switched off my own torch, the second or two waiting for my eyes to adjust being the most nerve-wracking moment of my life. I tripped and stumbled behind a tree, then forced myself to roll over and stay crouched beneath a nearby bush. I clutched my hands tightly over my nose and mouth. The adult's steps stomped hurriedly by. My entire body shook as I waited for those ominous footsteps to disappear. Once I was sure the person had left, I crawled out from my hiding spot onto shaking legs.

I jogged as quietly as I could in the opposite. Eventually I would have to circle back around to reach the exit, but for the time being I was putting as much distance as I could between me and my pursuer. It wasn't even a minute before I heard the footsteps again.

"Hey!" a man's gruff voice yelled. Like an idiot I looked back.

I didn't see anyone. "Huh?" I slowed before I could run headlong into a tree.

The man's light suddenly switched on, shining directly into my eyes. Momentarily blinded, I froze and shielded my eyes.

Something tackled me to the ground. I couldn't move as the shadowed man pinned me to the forest's floor, his weight almost crushing me. "H-help!" I choked out. The man hastened to clamp a sweaty, calloused hand over my mouth before I could say another word. His other worked quickly to pull a foul smelling cloth from somewhere on his person and wrap it hastily over my face. Gagged and with tears streaming down my face, I squirmed and kicked as hard as I could. I felt my foot make contact with his ankle.

He hissed out a curse before grabbing course rope from a pocket and painfully tying my wrists behind my back. I continued to struggle, but he twisted around, grabbed my flailing legs, and tied them too. He then picked me up like I was nothing. If you could believe, this all happened in less than three minutes.

I was going to die. That thought paralyzed me while in his grip. I was going to die and no one was going to know what happened to me. I was so close to home and yet I was so helplessly alone. I felt the tears stinging my eyes again. No, I didn't want to die!

Something rustled the leaves, and a moment later I heard a sickening _thunk_! as a small shadow struck the man's head. "LET HIM GO!" I jerked in the man's grip as several smaller shadows ran at the man. Even in the darkness, I knew them as the forms of my friends. Lutz threw another rock, striking my pursuer this time in the chest. Lovino, Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert swung thick branches at my kidnapper, who was forced to drop me to protect his face. One of the twins found my flashlight and shone it on the man. But the man turned and fled before any of us could get a look at his face.

Both Lovino and Lutz ran up to me. "Did he hurt you, Feli?" Lutz asked as my brother untied me. But I couldn't answer. I was crying. I was crying and I couldn't stop. I was so sure I would never see them again. My adrenaline was surging, and I couldn't stop crying. All my friends huddled around and hugged me tight.

The game was over. We walked out of the woods some ten minutes later, me still sobbing. The other players had informed our parents of what happened; apparently, Lutz noticed me wandering into the woods and he grew very concerned when he noticed two beams of light inside…disconcerting since he had the second flashlight. His fears only escalated when he heard me yelling, and he immediately rounded up the others. The authorities were called, and a massive search began for the would-be child kidnapper. A curfew was set for everybody in the neighborhood, but not one of us complained.

But I still never venture near those woods. I learned one terrible lesson that night. You see, there was no way for an outsider to know the rules of our game without watching us play it for many nights. They would have had to take meticulous note of every single one of our habits and preferences to know when was the opportune moment to lure away a player while he was alone. And I am terrified to know just how long he has been secretly watching us to learn all that.


	10. Wanted

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"How you managed to scare yourself with your own story again is beyond me," groaned Germany.

"I'm sorry!" whimpered a crying Italy, and he hurried to the wall his friend was leaning against.

"Well, I guess it's understandable. I'd be a bit freaked out by a stalker too."

"I don't know, Bulgaria, I thought he was something worse than a stalker," muttered Cuba.

"You mean a psychopath?" wondered Thailand.

"A murderer?" suggested Monaco.

"Russia?" asked Moldova.

A beat of awkward and confused silence followed that. "…Let's agree with psychopathic murderer," said Romania, giving a concerned glance at his little brother.

"You know, quite a few of our stories seemed to focus on those kinds of guys," Taiwan observed, "What do you suppose is going on in their heads as they commit their heinous acts?"

"My guess is nothing," India commented rather indifferently.

"Nothing?" Poland looked at him, incredulous.

"Actually, I think I have to side with him," said New Zealand, "In fact, I'd say they're really only aware of themselves during their brief moments of sanity…"

* * *

 **Wanted**

 **Based off of "Home Alone"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

You are hanging out tonight with some buddies. You grin with anticipation about the party you'll shortly be attending, your sort of rite of passage into university.

"Be careful," your brother tells you as you sit stilly but anxiously in the passenger seat. Since he has errands to run tonight he figured he'd drop you off. "And be safe. University students can be crazy, so be prepared for just about anything."

You tease him for his fatherly attitude. Your brother smirks as he pulls up to the curb.

"Just promise me you won't do something stupid like get so drunk you pass out."

So you promise you won't do something that stupid…

…And you do something that stupid. Next thing you know you're waking up on the floor in the hallway to the kitchen. Drool is creeping down your face, and you hasten to wipe it away. You can't even remember the trip back home. You know a friend had to have brought you home since that was the plan, but at what point during the party did you all decide to leave?

Okay, better question: what exactly _happened_ at the party? Why can you remember so little of it?

A sinking feeling seeps into your stomach. You shake it off, however. No, you probably just proved to the entire world last night that you couldn't hold your liquor. Humiliating, yeah, but nothing to be worried about. Right?

Since class starts in four hours, best to have some breakfast now. You flip on the television as you prepare yourself some food. The morning news is on, but you tune out the noise as you cook.

That is until they mention a certain street name. In fact, it's the very same street the party was held. You pay closer attention to the words.

"…four dead and three others injured last night. Authorities are saying the killer stabbed at the partygoers, many of whom were drunk or incapacitated. A neighbor managed to capture a picture of the perpetrator as they fled the scene, though police have still not located them. If you have any information on this person, please call…"

But you are more interested in the picture. No, this…this couldn't be right. How could—

You hear a noise outside. Quietly, you go see what it is. As you pass a window by the garage you halt. Looking past the glass's reflective surface, you see the killer staring straight back at you. Your heart races as you turn away. This can't be true! You run for the phone. You can fix this! You pick up the phone. If you hadn't—

What are you saying? Absolutely none of this was your fault. But regardless, how could you ever think of turning in your own brother?


	11. I Can Make You Smile

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

Iceland groaned when New Zealand finished his tale. Absolutely everyone seemed to have forgotten they were supposed to be having a meeting. Even Japan had given up with repairing the projector; he was seated on the floor next to its stand. As the others congratulated New Zealand for the good story, the Icelandic turned on his heel and marched toward the door. He should have left these guys ages ago, perhaps asked the other nations if he could have used their projector.

He just placed his hand on the doorknob when the door swung open again. "What's taking you lot so long?" England barged into the room, France right behind him. "Huh—oh! I'm terribly sorry, Iceland." England had stopped the door millimeters from hitting Iceland in the face. "What in the world is going on here? What's taking you, Japan? And Italy, you're supposed to be presenting next. What are you all doing?"

"Our apologies," Japan hastened to his feet, "Were the others getting concerned?"

France smirked. "America's been going on a spiel about how you three must have been kidnapped by aliens or something. It's just now gotten to the point where we couldn't take it anymore."

"Well, take a seat," Cyprus gestured toward a few extra chairs.

"Yeah," laughed Cuba, "It seems nothing is getting done tonight."

"That might be a problem," chuckled Monaco.

"I don't think so," grinned Thailand, missing the tongue-in-cheek, "Everybody's smiling. I like that; it means we're all having a great time."

"Is there ever a time you're not smiling when you're having a good time?" asked Denmark.

"Can't think of any." Thailand paused for a moment. "Okay, there may be one time…"

* * *

 **I Can Make You Smile**

 **Based off of "Tag"  
Credited to Pablo Paturg**

She squealed in delight as I tickled her. My little niece was having too much fun; I could see tears of laughter at the corners of her eyes. I was too. I haven't spent such precious time with my family since…well, ever. So hectic at work, so mentally taxing like you wouldn't believe, sometimes even coming home to more stress now that I had to babysit my brother's daughter. But tonight…tonight I was making someone smile. I was so happy by that thought, and so I couldn't help but smile along with her.

"U-uncle! Stop it, uncle!" she laughed, rolling around on her bed. I laughed too, continuing to tickle her. We both laughed together until, exhausted by our game, she eventually fell asleep with me still over her.

I heard a strange cry of joy behind me. My brother and his wife just came by to pick up their daughter. My sister-in-law held her hands over her mouth as if trying to hide her sheer delight, her eyes wide with excitement. My brother yelled with enthusiasm as he ran over to hug me, tears of happiness in his eyes too, his fists raised.

I smiled and lifted the shiny instrument I used to tickle with. I had an extra sharp one just to make sure I excited all the nerves for the best experience. I prepared to leap at him just as I had with my niece.

"I can make you smile too."


	12. For What It's Worth

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

Several nations scooted away from Thailand. "That was a bit much," Taiwan said uneasily.

"Huh?" Thailand looked at them, confused, "What I'd say? What was wrong with it?"

"Nothing was wrong," Cyprus admitted, "Just...dark. That was dark."

Poland frowned. "Dark? Did we, like, hear the same story?"

"You mean you didn't get that one either?" Bulgaria stared at him with astonishment.

England sighed. "I'm not exactly surprised."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" The Polish man turned to him.

"Ve~, Germany? Could you explain what happened?" A few nations now looked at Italy with shock. His German friend pinched the bridge of his nose.

"If you just think about it for a moment—"

"No, don't tell him; it'll spoil the fun," smiled Denmark.

"But if he doesn't get it, then what fun is there to have?" Norway pointed out.

"I think you guys should just tell more straightforward stories," said Poland.

"But they shouldn't be too straightforward," Romania replied, "Then that kind of defeats the purpose of it being creepy."

"I agree with you on that," said Germany, "Not because the story necessarily has to be scary, but sometimes a straightforward message just isn't as memorable as a carefully hidden one…"

* * *

 **For What It's Worth**

 **Based off of "Appetence"  
Credited to FandomSketcher**

It's always so noisy in the kennel room. I listen not to the other dogs' shouts and threats for food and water. The humans feed us when they feed us; it has always been that way since we were pups. Instead, I focus on cleaning the wounds on my forepaws and legs, the blood still pouring down steadily from the bite marks. It's not so bad this time; usually my wounds after confronting a pure-bred fighting dog are much more severe. Master himself had called off the fight early to spare me serious injury.

The door to our room is unbolted, the grating noise harsh to my ears. The other dogs make louder their demands. As if the humans can understand them.

"Shut up, ya' stupid mutts!" the human entering shouts into the cacophony. He is not the Master, just an underling. I snort softly as he walks around to all the cages. In his two hands is a large bucket filled to the brim with bloody slabs of various meats. I can feel my stomach churning as I look at them, my mouth watering at the smell. Three days without food did take a toll on my strength; otherwise, I would have easily defeated that Tosa in the ring today. At least that's what Master claims.

The underling stuffs a piece of meat through the bars of the cages, pulling his hand out seconds before the dogs inside can tear off his fingers. "Jeez!" he hisses when one Pit Bull comes very close to removing two of his fingers. Eventually he comes around to my cage. It is only with me that he opens the cage door. He even pets me briefly. "Here ya' go, mutt. I gotta' special steak just for ya'." He tosses in the large meal before slamming the door shut.

I sniff the meat. It's horse this time. I grab the morsel with my teeth, relishing only for a moment its tenderness and bittersweet flavor, before tossing it to the back of my cage. Delicious as it is, I cannot eat that. Not until _he_ has had his fill.

My cagemate, lying in a curled ball, jerks at the sound of the meat landing in front of his face. He looks up warily at me with terrified eyes, questioning me if he could really have it. I shift closer to the front of the cage, my body hiding my friend from view of the human. With a tiny whimper of thanks he eats it. I keep watch as my stomach softly moans.

The door bangs open again, and another underling enters. He glares for the one feeding us, shouting something about 'the boss' coming in a few minutes. At the sound of my Master's name, I perk up and wag my tail somewhat. The underling who'd just entered notices me.

"Oi, did you feed him yet?" He comes over to my cage. When he sees him approaching, my cagemate hurriedly scarfs down the rest of the meat and slinks to the furthest corner of the cage to cower.

"Yeah," the other calls out, stepping over as well.

"And you made sure he actually ate this time?"

"I put it right in front of him. I really doubt that other one managed ta' steal it." The feeder underling glares at my cagemate. "Such a pathetic mutt. What breed is he, anyway?"

"Lupo Italiano," mutters the other one, "He's supposed to be half-wolf and half-German Shepherd, but he's nothing but all chicken if you ask me. The boss wanted to sell more exotic working dogs; standard ones just aren't fetching what they used to."

"No wonder this one hasn't mauled him ta' death yet. He probably thinks he's his half-brother or something."

"Nah, this guy's smart. He only does what the boss says." The human sticks his fingers through the bars to pet me. Several dogs around me scream at me to tear his limbs off out of spite, but I wordlessly ignore them. As the human implied, I'm not stupid. You _never_ bite the hand that feeds you. These years of starvation and torture are nearly unbearable, but I have faithfully stuck by my code, a code I wish to instill on my cowardly friend. Never bite the hand that feeds you; you're reward will come soon enough. "He was bred to obey."

Two dogs brawling with each other over their shared piece of meat quickly redirects the attention of one of the humans. He curses as he hurries to break up their fighting. The other puts down the bucket and opens the cage door again. This time he reaches for my friend in a gesture indicating he wanted to pet him.

The Lupo Italiano, however, begs to be left alone, with subtle undertones of a threat to retaliate. While the gesture was an obvious plea to any dog, to a human it could have easily appeared as a half-hearted attempt at baring his fangs. Such a misunderstanding could easily get him killed in this place. I snarl coldly at my cagemate as the human retracts his arm in fright. My friend cries an apology before curling back up into a ball. "Hah, ya' got him trained good," the human chuckles nervously. He leaves with the other human some moments later.

With them gone, I growl lowly at my friend, reminding him that you never bite the hand that feeds you. He doesn't respond. I don't blame him.

The humans must have been misinformed because the Master never came. I'd spent the whole day expecting him, awaiting the prospect of him coming to see me. Yes, he may be the one in charge of this underground breeding and fighting facility, and, yes, he was the one responsible for all of my torment, but he's also the one who rewards us. I knew that deep down the Master was good.

But then, two days without food later, he appears. I can't be anymore relieved. I can hear the Master's muffled voice outside the door that separates the kennel from the rest of the human world. I wake up my friend with excitement. My cagemate looks terrified at seeing the Master again, but I assure him not to be afraid. We were finally going to be rewarded for our obedience.

At last the Master walks into the room. The other dogs go wild, cursing the man and swearing to tear him to shreds. I snort to myself and think how they'll never get that chance even if they wanted to. They've tried too many times to attack the underlings; as if the Master is stupid enough to put himself near their cages. He walks straight up to my cage and grins.

"It's good to see you, champ. How's my best dog doing?" I gesture discreetly for my friend to pay attention before responding to the Master with a dignified bark, one that silenced all the other dogs. "HAHA! That's what I like to see! Dogs that command respect." He bends down but does not open the cage. "Sorry about what happened earlier this week. But I had to scout out the competition and needed to use you as bait. At least now I have an idea of how strong their bred Tosas are." He laughs again. I merely wag my tail and crouch low, a sign to play. My friend stares at me like I've gone mad.

I'm just waiting for my reward.

"Ah, alright. Since you've been such a good boy." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a large bone with scraps of meat still on it. I almost can't help myself as he leans closer, unlatches the cage door, opens it—

I lunge straight out. Fangs pierce deeply into the human's jugular, the sweet, sweet blood spraying across and down my mouth as I rip ever so delicious chunks of flesh and muscle away. Gurgled cries of shock go unnoticed as I tear at him again to fill my starving belly. This is why you never bite the hand that feeds you; it's much too bony to provide any sort of meal. The throat is much more succulent. Aim there. Oh I knew the Master was good, so very good. I haven't been rewarded this well my whole life.

I turn around and eagerly offer some to my friend. After all, he should share in the reward too. But my friend can only watch me with a newfound terror in his eyes, backing all the way into the corner of my cage. Shirking him off, I ravenously return to the meal.

My stomach aches with so much food. I can hear shouts of humans behind me. My friend whimpers for me, and I regret that I didn't hear him all that clearly over the crushing of flesh between my teeth. Moments later I feel something heavy and cold press against the back of my skull; by this point, however, I am far too content with the food in my belly to care about it. The noise of a loud click rings outs, and all other sounds in the room cease to exist. I knew what that noise was. It was the noise the humans' gun made right before it 'put down' one of us. I swallow the meat that is in my mouth and lick whatever thin layer of blood coats my muzzle. It seems my reward will have to be cut short. A shame. But for what it was worth, I'd do it all over again.


	13. Do Monsters Exist?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

"I suppose that's another way of saying 'good things come to those who wait,'" stated Liechtenstein.

"…Or bad things, if you think about it," shuddered Moldova. Romania smirked.

"You're not getting scared on me now, right, bro? Did the message get to you?" Moldova shook his head.

"No way! I wasn't scared. I was just looking at it from a different angle. I mean, after all that and you just end up punished anyway? That seems really cruel."

"But that's life. In my opinion, both lessons are good ones to know. But I suppose there should be a little straightforwardness in the story to make sure the intended lesson is learned." Stunned, everyone froze and stared at the person who spoke. "Wh-what?" Iceland looked back at all of them, blushing slightly.

"You've finally stopped worrying about giving your presentation!" And if Denmark didn't sound so stupidly proud…

Iceland hurriedly turned away, face reddening, and Norway took that as his cue to kick the Dane under the table for embarrassing the younger nation. "N-no, it's not like I'm participating in this stupid game or whatever…"

"Still, Iceland has a point," said England, who was now sitting in a chair next to Romania, "There are times when one needs to be forthright. Especially when talking to children."

"Ah. That I can agree with," nodded India, "I'll take it you had such an experience?"

"Of course I have. But I have also heard stories…"

* * *

 **Do Monsters Exist?**

 **Based off of "Monster"  
Credited to Ecrowe**

"…And the prince and princess never had to worry about the monster terrorizing their kingdom ever again," I finish reading my sons' favourite bedtime tale. They both pout, knowing that now the story was over they had to go to sleep.

"One more?" the older one asks.

"Ah ah, you made a promise." Grumbling to himself, he pulls the covers up to his chin. The other does the same with much less complaining. I kiss them both gently on the forehead and wish them pleasant dreams. Before I can turn off the bedside lamp, though, I hear my youngest one sit up.

"Daddy," he asks, "Do monsters exist?"

I turn back around and see him clutching his toy bear to his chest. His brother in the opposite bed sits up and shakes his head.

"No way they exist. I already checked under both of our beds."

"But what if they're in the closet?"

He freezes. "Ah! I forgot to check there!" Now he is holding onto his stuffed whale for dear life. I chuckle at the two of them.

"You boys settle down. There aren't any monsters under your beds or in your closet."

"What about behind the drawer?"

"Not there either."

"Behind the door?"

"Safe as can be."

"Are there any outside?"

I hesitate for a second. "…Yes. There are monsters outside." My words must have been too shocking to take in for it took several seconds for them to start shivering.

"W-w-wait, m-monsters _do_ exist?" the older one asks.

"Unfortunately so."

"B-but you'll be there to save us, r-right?" squeaks the younger.

I take a seat on the edge of his bed. "Not always," I tell them the truth, "You see, the monsters in real life can look just like you and me. Remember the story of the wolf in sheep's clothing?" They nod. "Monsters are just like that wolf, and you are the sheep. You never know when one is around until it's too late. That's why you must never go with people you don't know or talk to strangers."

"How do you tell the good people from the monsters?"

"Remember that actions can speak louder than words. It's hard to see but many monsters do things that normal people don't do."

"That's right!" exclaimed my older son, "Monsters are like scary bullies. They're the ones who hurt other people and lie to them and are just mean to everybody. Right daddy?"

"That's how most of them are, yes," I admit with an ever soft frown, "But there're those who are even more dangerous than bullies. People who are very polite and never get mad and always follow directions and never _ever_ say or do wrong. It's the people who are perfect you must be even more watchful of. They are the ones you never expect to be monsters."

My sons are silent. I stand and walk over to the lamp, their cue to go to bed. While they slip under their sheets I switch off the light and prepare to leave. "Daddy," my younger son asks as I make it to the door, "Do you know any monsters?" I turn back and smile soothingly at him.

"Go to sleep now, my little lamb. I'll see you both in the morning." I shut the door behind me as I leave.


	14. City of the Lost

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

A few nations seemed to let out a sigh of relief after England finished. "I was expecting a ghost story or one about evil spirits, but that was actually kind of sweet," admitted Taiwan.

"More of a cautionary tale than a creepypasta; nonetheless, it's a respectable piece," India complimented the Brit.

England nodded his head in thanks. "Well, I do know a few horror stories, if you'd like to hear on—"

"DUDES! The hero has arrived!" Several nations jumped in alarm as America burst through the conference door. "Where're the aliens? Were they keeping you all hostage? I totally got this!"

"You idiot!" barked England, "We told you there weren't any aliens!"

"Then what's up with you and everyone else taking so long to get back? We have a meeting to finish in case you forgot." England groaned.

"Hello everyone," waved Canada. Now it was his brother's turn to shout in surprise.

"Whoa, Canada! When'd you get here?"

"I tagged along, remember? I've been behind you the whole time," frowned the other.

"Oh."

"As observant as ever," France snickered. Cyprus smirked along with him.

"It seems everybody wants to come to our little conference room tonight. I suppose that's pretty neat. I mean, there are worse places you could end up going to…"

* * *

 **City of the Lost**

 **Based off of "Lightless City"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

Have you ever felt such overwhelming hatred for someone? Was there a time you wished you could inflict horrifying pain on another or sought irreparable vengeance? If so, then perhaps you might want to consider visiting the City of the Lost.

It's surprisingly tricky to reach this mysterious place despite the very few starting requirements. First, you must make absolutely certain in both mind and soul that you _really_ want to hurt someone. Should you fulfill this vital step, go to any place that has numerous buildings and alleyways; usually a large town or small city works best. Only when it is night enter an abandoned alley that has but one light source. Close your eyes tightly and whisper "Can you point me to the City of the Lost?" Even with your eyes closed, you should still be able to see the light through your lids. When you see the light begin to flicker erratically, open your eyes.

Welcome to the City of the Lost. It'll be a very dark place with no moon or stars in the sky above you. As quickly and quietly as you can, leave the alleyway. The light behind you should eventually disappear, leaving you in absolute blackness save for a faint red outline of tall buildings around you. You have the chance at this point to let your eyes adjust, take in the sights, and wander the city in peace.

But don't lower your guard. If at any point you hear a noise while in the city, _run_. The residents of this city don't want you to leave, and they will do everything within their power to keep you there. And their powers are capable of turning any rational human insane. Do not let them catch you. Run until you reach the outskirts of the city, toward the limits of the red glow.

You should find a hooded child just outside the city boundaries. Approach him, but do not touch him. Wait for him to speak first to show your respect. Trust me, you do not want to upset this child.

The child will ask, "Will you spare me some light?" If you answer 'no,' then the child will wail loudly, attracting the attention of the very ones you were trying to flee from in the city. If you answer 'yes,' the child will place a hand over your left eye. You'll feel an intense pain as if someone were skewering your eyeball, but you will soon find that the boy has merely taken away your sight. He will thank you before running into the black abyss.

Now you must wait. It may seem like an eternity, but eventually there will be someone else to emerge from the darkness in front of you. A tall man with otherwise nondescript features will say to you, "An eye for an eye. You gave yours, but who is the other to pay?"

Speak the name of the person you want to punish, and a terrible fate will befall them. What that fate is you may not immediately know, but you can take comfort in that it was by your own doing they suffered.

The tall man will ask, "Has your hatred been satisfied?" If you answer 'yes,' you will suddenly find yourself back in the abandoned alleyway you started in before entering the city. The sight lost in your left eye can never be restored.

If you answer 'no,' then the man will nod wordlessly and walk back into the darkness. Return to the city. Make your way to the center of the town, again being careful not to be caught by any of the inhabitants. Once more you will find a hooded child, this time a little girl. She too will ask, "Will you spare me some light?" Tell her 'yes.' She will take the sight of your right eye and disappear.

Be calm as you wait for the tall man again. As you'll be blind you'll only know he's near when he calls to you, "An eye for an eye. You gave yours, but who is the other to pay?" Speak the name of the person you hate most in the world, and they shall die within the hour.

The tall man will not ask you if your hatred is satisfied this time around. You will not be able to make your way back to the alleyway. And you will never be able to restore your sight. You shall become a new inhabitant of that city, forever blinded and maddened by your own vengeance and forced to wander about in that hate-filled world. For some, the torment is worth it. But will it be for you?


	15. La Voûte Secrète

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"Sweet! So we're doing these again," grinned America, having taken a seat on the floor beside Japan and England.

"Was last year's better than this?" Moldova asked.

"Hard to say," said Japan, "We just got here."

"Plus we're not quite finished. It's hard to judge until we all go."

"Is that really necessary?" Germany frowned at Denmark.

"Ah, come one, Germany. This isn't so bad."

"Then why do you look like you're about to cry, Italy?" Poland teased. Japan and Germany ended up having to try and comfort their friend.

"My brother spent a whole night doing this?" Liechtenstein mumbled more to herself, but Romania heard.

"I can see it," smiled Romania, "Taking turns telling stories with one another at night– it's like we're part of a ritual or something. Sharing dark secrets and whatnot."

"Ah, but there are certainly some secrets that have to be kept," smirked France, "After all, they're called 'secrets' for a reason…"

* * *

 **La Voûte Secrète**

 **Based off of "The First Bank"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

In the city of Versailles, there's an ancient bank almost as old as the city itself. Legend states that it houses a vault containing all the unfound riches of Europe.

One such bank robber was determined to lay claim to it all. He walked into this bank like a normal patron and calmly strolled up to the counter. The teller behind the enormous mahogany desk greeted him with a smile. "Bonjour. How may I help you this evening?"

"I need you to open a certain vault for me, Monsieur…" He looked at the nametag of the blond teller. "Monsieur Francis. It should be under the name _la voûte secrète_." Francis the teller's warm smile slid slightly.

"I'm sorry sir, but we do not have any vaults by that name. If there's anything else I can help you with—" He was silenced by the cocked gun suddenly pointed at him. Several people screamed at the sight of the weapon and ran for the exit.

"I don't want to repeat myself," the thief scowled, "Show me the way to _la voûte secrète_ now! Dépêchez-vous!" Francis slowly rose from his chair, eyes still trained on the gun less than a meter away.

"This way, sir," he spoke in a surprisingly calm tone. He led the man behind the counter, to the back rooms and then past them, and finally to a single black door at the very end of the establishment. With a tiny silver key, Francis unlocked the door, and it opened up to a cavernous stairwell leading deep underground. Lit torches lined the walls, casting long and sinister shadows across the stony faces. The thief nudged the teller with his gun to move, and Francis stepped down the rocky steps first. As they traversed down into the bowels of the earth, the robber noticed a faint, burning odor near him.

"What is that—AH!" His pants were slightly burning, and he hastened to pull out his cell phone, now smoking and, hard to believe, melted beyond use. "My phone!"

"Technology doesn't function well down here," Francis stated lowly.

"Whatever. I can always get another one once we're through."

They reached the bottom of the stairwell. Francis directed the thief to a single metallic door with a heavy bolt on it. Fortunately, the giant lock appeared to be just for show as the teller was able to open the door simply by pulling the handle. "Sir, I ask that you reconsider." But the robber motioned for Francis to enter the dark room. Begrudgingly, he obliged.

When the robber felt it was safe to enter too he grabbed a torch off the wall and stepped inside. It was far too dark to see how large and wide the room was, but even with the limited amount of light, he could catch the glittering of ancient bronze coins stacked high into the air. It was a treasure cove beyond imagination! He lunged for the nearest stack and scooped up as many coins that could fit inside his sack.

"Je suis riche! I'm rich! I'm—" The thief blinked. Was that…it was! Beyond the bronze piles were towering stacks of silver pieces. There was enough silver over there to provide him for life! He hastily dumped out his bag of bronze coins, making way for the silver. If only he'd brought a larger bag, then he could steal even more silv—

"It can't be…" It was hard to tell because it was even further away, but he could barely make out the outline of more piles of coins. And one stray piece had a distinct golden reflection of light. Just a bagful could provide for him and his future generations. He fervently refilled the bag with new content until it was close to bursti—

But what was that? Rainbow light? Was that a mound of precious gemstones? Rubies and emeralds and diamonds and opals. The thief couldn't even begin to comprehend how much wealth just one gem would garner him.

The would-be robber could not stop his greed and continued to jump from stack to stack, each one bearing even greater riches than the last, deeper and deeper into the vault. When the man was so far gone that not even his torch could be seen, Francis stepped quietly out of the room. "He got what he asked for." he sighed. "Quel dommage." And he sealed the vault tightly shut behind him.


	16. Gravedigger

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"And this is why you're not in charge of the World Bank," snorted England; France frowned at him.

"Geez, imagine if there was some sort of miscommunication and someone had to go down into that vault," said Canada, "They'd pretty much be trapped forever."

"That'd be like being buried alive," shivered Bulgaria, "I can hardly stand the thought of that happening to me."

"You know that used to be a real fear long ago," said his Romanian friend, "That's why some coffins had little bells attached to them to signal someone buried alive. And it was up to the gravedigger to listen to those bells…"

* * *

 **Gravedigger**

 **Based off of "Sarah O'Bannon"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

I'm a gravedigger. I know it's not something to be proud about, but that's what I am. It's my job to clear out the dirt for the deceased and to listen to the bells each night. They ring almost every other night. Once that bell saved the life of a poor young man who was buried alive by mistake; I rescued him after it was pulled and he was yelling out for help. All the times besides, though, it was either the village kids trying to fool me or just the wind.

Last night was different. It was just when I was settling down in my lodge when I heard a light ring. I grabbed my shovel and checked to go see and, yes, I could see the tiny bell jingling, its cord being pulled by something under the earth. I rushed to the grave. "Hello? Is that someone pulling?"

"Yes! Yes!" A muffled woman's voice barely reached me from the layers of dirt between us. "Please let me out! There's been a terrible mistake! I'm not dead!"

I checked the tombstone to find the name. "Are your initials S.N.?"

"Indeed! My name is Sonia Negrescu!" Her quickly spoken words were true.

"And you were born on February 19th, 1825?"

"Correct!"

I frown. "Well, it says here that you died on March 28th, 1846. Just yesterday."

"That isn't true at all!" she cried desperately, "Dig me up, I beg of you! I must tell my family I'm still alive!"

I stood, taking my shovel in hand. "I'm sorry, ma'am," I said as I swing the blade, cutting the string to the bell in half. "But if you really did die yesterday you'd know tomorrow is September 22nd, not March 30th. Whatever you are, it most certainly isn't alive."


	17. Meaning of Life

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

"So was she a ghost all along?" America clung to Japan for dear life.

"And here we go," muttered Canada at the sight of his brother's quivering.

"That sounded more like a zombie than a ghost if you ask me," said New Zealand.

"America, get off of Japan," the Englishman scolded the nation.

"Huh? Whoops! Sorry Japan."

"I-it's alright," coughed his friend, now able to breathe properly.

Another knock on the door caused everyone to pause. "I wonder who it is this time," mused Norway as Cuba went to answer it.

"Hi everybody!"

"Hm."

Belgium and Netherlands stepped into the room, one looking excited, the other a tad bored. Belgium blinked when she saw the nations, several of who were leaning against the wall or sitting on the floor. "What are you all doing?"

"Are we seriously going to have to explain this every time someone interrupts us?" sighed Iceland. "Our projector is broken, so we're just wasting time."

"I believe the words you're looking for are 'telling' and 'creepypastas'," replied Denmark with a laugh.

"That sounds like fun!" Belgium's eyes lit up.

"That again?" her brother was clearly less enthusiastic. America perked up.

"Hey, wait a minute. You never went last year, did you? You totally skipped out on telling your story." Netherlands shrugged.

"That's not my fault."

His sister turned to him. "You skipped out? Why don't you tell one now?"

"Because I don't feel like it."

"Ah, come on. Please," asked Italy, "I really wanted to hear your story last time."

"Me too," grinned America.

"I'm afraid I did as well," admitted Canada. Netherlands glared at all of them.

"Please brother," Belgium pleaded. Netherlands groaned under her puppy-dog eyes.

"Fine, fine. I don't particularly like ghost stories, but I may know one tale for you…"

* * *

 **Meaning of Life**

 **Based off of "An Egg"  
Credited to Andy Weir**

I knew the first words out of your mouth before you even woke up and took in your strange surroundings. "Where am I?" I expected the next ones as I lighted my pipe. "What happened to me?" It was always like this– Every. Single. Time. After a while it gets a bit tedious.

"You're dead." Frankly, I didn't have time to beat around the bush. "You died in a car crash on your way back from work. Don't worry; it was a quick passing."

"I died!?" you exclaimed.

I exhaled the smoke with agitated breath. "Yes. You died."

"And this is the afterlife?"

"Something of the sort." Nothing but whiteness as far as the eye could see. I hated coming to this place, but it was my turn to check on you.

"Are you an angel?" That was the first time you've asked me something new. Usually you asked if I was some other higher religious figure. But an angel? I appreciated this.

"Consider me one." You did another action that surprised me: you breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

"Well…at least my wife and son are safe. You kinda suck as a guardian, though; but I'm glad it was only me."

"My sister should have been the one to meet you. She'd have been more impressed by how mature you are."

"Your sister? Another angel?"

"Consider her one too."

You hesitated for a second or two. "Do I…do I go to Heaven now or…"

I released another puff of astral smoke. "No."

"Oh," you said, "So I'm going to…"

"You're going to be reincarnated."

"Oh." You sounded much more relieved that time. "So I guess the Buddhists were right all along. Reincarnation's a thing."

"All the religions are right one way or another." I looked around and frowned even more. "They are still not ready for you yet."

"They? The other angels? And ready for me for what? I thought I was being reincarnated."

"You sure are asking a lot more questions than usual."

"But I've never been here before. I just died. Last I checked, that's only a once-in-an-existence event."

"Not true," I corrected you, "You've died hundreds of thousands of millions of times before now. You simply cannot recall any particular life except for the most recent."

"What?"

I closed my eyes. I really shouldn't have told you. You weren't quite ready. But… "Life is an inconceivable existence. Your soul is grander and more precious than you can ever understand, but your human body can only contain a fraction of it at a time. The closest analogy for you to possibly come close to understanding what I mean would be like testing a glass of water. You put in a tiny piece of yourself for but a moment into that cup, and when you pull it out you've gained a bit more knowledge of what it is, like whether the water is hot or cold."

"I…think I understand," you looked down, puzzled. But you didn't. Not fully. Not in the way you needed to. "But once I get reincarnated, won't I forget everything? What's the purpose of living so many lives if I'm only ever going to remember the one I just lived?"

I gave you a funny look. "Are you really asking me what the meaning of life is? Do I look like God to you?"

"Well somebody has to know!"

Fair point. I sighed. "You need to live them so you can mature. Your soul is an egg that is just now starting to crack open. The universe you know is merely an incubator for you to grow in. This particular space is somewhere for the rest of us to check on you without interfering with your development and guide you back into the incubator until you are ready."

"When I'm ready for what? To join you and your sister and whoever else is out there? What even are you?" I could not answer that last question; you could never possibly be able to understand had I told you. But the one before was simple.

"Yes. And my brother is determined for you to be a Serbian male born in the late nineteenth century this time around."

"Hold on– I'm being reincarnated into the past? Doesn't that imply I can interact with other past incarnations of myself?"

"It happens all the time," I said after another puff from my pipe, "Literally all the time. Each and every person you meet is a different incarnation of you. Your experiences, though, are contained; all your incarnations are only aware of the own timespans. If you stay here long enough, you might be able to recall your previous life as a squire boy in the fifteenth century."

"So every person…every human on the Earth is…is just me?"

"Correct. You are your best friend, and your worst enemy. You've created peace with yourself, and you've fought bloodbaths with yourself. You've blessed your own name, and you have cursed it. You've saved your life, and you have taken it away. You are one person, and you are every human."

Finally, the shining vortex of black light materializes before us. "They're ready," I said. "About time." You stepped toward the swirling distortion of time and space. You looked back.

"Am I going to remember any of this?"

"No."

"But it will all be worth it? This endlessness of existence?"

I had to smile a little at that. "No, it will end. One day, after you hatch. Then you will help watch over the next egg that gets the gift of life." You smiled and you cried.

I watched you as you stepped into your next life.


	18. My Brother's Gift

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

Momentary silence. "Wow…" uttered Cyprus, "That was deep."

"I'll say," agreed India.

"Brother's really good at telling stories," Belgium smiled proudly, wrapping an arm around her sibling.

"What about you?" questioned a curious Moldova, "I want to hear a story from you next."

"Who? Me? Oh no, no– I'm not good at telling scary stories," Belgium quickly held up her hands in embarrassment.

"Oh, come on. You have to," pleaded Taiwan, "Everybody has to tell one."

"And it doesn't have to be a scary story if you don't want it to," said Monaco, "We've already heard a few that were more thoughtful than straightforward creepy."

"Either way, I'll like any story you tell," smiled Italy. Netherlands shot him a defensive glare.

Belgium thought it over. "I suppose it can't hurt," she finally relented. She placed a finger on her chin, trying to remember a tale. "I think I know one, but it's not very long."

"That's okay," chuckled Thailand. Belgium beamed as well.

"Okay then. If I remember correctly, it was more sweet than anything else…"

* * *

 **My Brother's Gift**

 **Based off of "The Ana Doll"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

Apart they were  
When I was four—  
My parents had to leave.  
They had enough  
And took their stuff  
As I cried on my sleeve.

Though sad inside,  
I realized  
The reason for this shift;  
My brother too  
'Cause when he knew  
He gave me one last gift.

"I made this doll  
So you'll recall  
The happy times we had.  
We'll be apart,  
But in your heart  
You'll see it's not so bad.

This special toy  
I made with joy  
Will help you when you sleep.  
It will warn you  
And protect you  
From the evils you'll meet."

He left with ma,  
I stayed with pa;  
That night was not the same.  
But years went by,  
And though I try,  
There's no one I will blame

But brother's doll,  
Since I was small,  
Kept watch just like he said;  
It warned one night  
About a plight  
That would have left me dead.

The stitched-up lace  
Upon its face  
That made a thin-lipped smile  
Had made an 'O',  
And from that show  
My heart went fast and wild.

I turned my head  
And saw with dread  
A bright glow right outside.  
I fled the room  
And searched through gloom  
Someplace where I could hide.

The thief broke in,  
And through the din,  
My bedroom door slammed shut.  
Then someone screamed  
And it had seemed  
Like that man's soul'd been cut.

When it died down  
And I had found  
The courage to go back,  
I peeked inside  
And, terrified,  
Had gone to find my dad.

The man was dead  
And on my bed  
He poured out his own life  
For in his chest  
And through his vest  
Rested a bloodstained knife.

I knew him not  
But what I got  
Was fear to sleep again.  
But when I saw  
My brother's doll  
I had to thank my friend.

But now it's late,  
And though I'm safe,  
Its mouth's an 'O' once more.  
If not for me  
Then who could be  
The one it's screaming for?


	19. Can't Sleep

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

"Remind me to burn all my stuffed bears when I get home," America muttered to his brother.

"You still sleep with teddy bears?" smirked Cuba.

"Gya– I mean no!"

"Wait, what's wrong with sleeping with teddy bears?" Liechtenstein asked, suddenly blushing.

"N-nothing!" Both nations hastily tried to reassure her.

"Well, I'm totally not going to get any sleep tonight," sighed Poland. Vietnam looked toward the pouting nation.

"You're not? But aren't you the one least frightened by these stories?"

"Actually, that may be Moldova," Poland muttered, "But, no. I mean, all of these stories are making me, like, completely paranoid and stuff. I'm just not going to get a wink of sleep tonight…"

* * *

 **Can't Sleep**

 **Based off of "Knock Knock"  
Credited to zeref_0**

Can't sleep. I can't sleep. I just want to go to sleep.

It's been a long day today—classes were exhausting, my job was almost as tiring, and extracurricular clubs were just time wasters—and I was going to need all eight hours of rest just to have enough energy to do it all over again. Mundane but necessary. So why couldn't I sleep?

The clock on my stand reads 1:25 am. I can't help but groan as I twist over under my sheets and curl up in a ball. I wasn't becoming an insomniac, was I? Why the heck couldn't I go to sleep? I pull the covers over my head.

 _Knock knock._

I jerk my head out. What was that noise? Someone knocking? I glance toward the window. Okay, why did I do that? Was I seriously expecting someone to be just outside my third-story window knocking? Lo and behold, there's nothing there.

 _Knock knock._

Tired eyes turn to the closed door of my bedroom. I rub them, them stinging as I try to peer through the darkness. "Go back to sleep. This isn't funny, Tory." Tory is my roommate, a classmate willing to share an apartment with me. Shame he has frequent nightmares that, oh yeah, also prevent me from getting much needed beauty rest.

 _Knock knock._

Now this is getting annoying. I don't bother to hold back the whispered swears coming from my mouth as I march to the door and open it. I blink. Even in the near pitch darkness I can see there's no one there. But…but that had to have been Tory knocking, right? Slightly unnerved, I make my way down the darkened hallway to my friend's own door, pushing it open quietly to peek inside. There is Tory, fast asleep in his bed, utterly content with whatever he is dreaming.

"O-okay, this is weird." I walk quickly back to my room, opting to keep the door open now. I slip back under the covers. There's nothing to get panicked about. There're no such things as monsters, right? The silence seems to agree with me. Maybe if I try hard enough I can go to sleep now. Heck, maybe I'm already asleep and this is just a crazy dream.

 _Knock knock._

Not a dream! This is _not_ a dream! Sweat's pretty much drenching my face now as I can't help but wonder what in the world is making that knocking sound. My heart hammers as I look back and forth between my door and the window, desperately trying to find the source. The door would make the most amount of sense, but if this is the supernatural I'm dealing with, the window could be a viable option…

 _Knock knock._

Where was it coming from!? My search hastens.

Door?

Window?

Door?

Window?

D—

A low chuckle greets me as I slowly look up to see two gleaming red eyes peering down from above…


	20. Remember

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

"Boo!"

"WAAAHH!"

"HOLY—!"

"JEEZ!" Everyone was indeed frightened by Russia's little tease, particularly Poland after the larger nation clasped his hands on his shoulders. "Like, when the heck did you get here!?"

"Just now," he smiled playfully. "You all were so interested in that tale you completely missed us coming in."

"What?" frowned many of the others. By the looks of it, all the remaining nations from the other meeting had come over were now present in this room.

"Hmph!" snorted China, "So this is what you have been up to."

"We were wondering what in the world was taking ya'," smirked Australia, "Glad to know this is why."

"But it's nice to see that everyone is getting along better in here," chuckled Lithuania. Belarus merely rolled her eyes at the group.

Denmark smiled. "Well yeah. That's because it's a time to hang out with friends. Want to join us?"

"Don't mind if we do," replied the Australian. Chairs were scooted around and space was made on the floor for the extra guests. Iceland growled audibly.

"Are we really serious? _Everyone_ is going to go along with this?"

"Come on, dude, this is a lot more fun," said America. Iceland raised a brow at his slightly quivering form.

"A few ghost stories among friends never hurt anybody," agreed France.

"We're…we're all friends?"

"I don't see why not," England stated, "While some of us have closer bonds than others, we do all share a certain kinship with one another, even if you might not agree."

"Especially after tonight," nodded Romania.

Iceland blushed. He hadn't thought any of the other nations would've even noticed him if not for this meeting. But to hear that even the larger nations considered themselves to be…

"I-I don't need to have so many friends."

"Appreciate them while you can, kid," spoke Cuba seriously, "You never know what may happen to loved ones down the road…"

* * *

 **Remember**

 **Based off of "One Shot"  
Credited to Zetitik**

Darkness blanketed the house. A sole candle was lit in the windowless hallway, its light wholly concealed from the ravaged world outside. The man sat forelongingly against the basement door, shotgun perched solemnly in his lap. The persistent banging from the other side never once perturbed the man from his thoughts.

"Hey hombre? Don't you remember how we first met? It was right after I came to this country. My family just traveled thousands of miles to another land, and yet I didn't know a lick of the spoken language here. But I was standing there, out in the street with my bags, staring like a deer in headlights at all the huge and foreign houses. Heh. And then your brother ran up to me out of nowhere and sprayed me with his water gun. Some greeting. I chased the punk all over the place, him laughing the whole time, el bobo. And when I finally caught him, I gave him a good sluggin' to the head. Only it wasn't him. It was you."

A muffled, mindless snarl added to the pounding on the door.

"I apologized, remember? To you I apologized…" His fingers curved lightly around the heavy metal on his legs. It was so cold to the skin and so heavy on the heart.

"I don't even recall how we became best friends after that. Maybe because we were in the same class? No. I think it was because you were the only one who _wanted_ to be my friend. I was the weird kid who wouldn't speak. You tried French with me, don't you recall? It failed miserably. But we understood a few words when trying that. Like 'friend'. I wanted to call you mi amigo. So you taught me English. You were a patient boy with me; I think I wanted to give up more times than you did. But you stuck by me. Every single day during recess you stuck by me and tried to teach me and encourage me. And soon you were introducing me to your other friends, trying to reconcile my relations with your brother."

There was a thump from somewhere outside. Maybe a piece of wooden plank fell off from the upstairs window. The nails had gotten a bit loose earlier in the week. There was little point in repairing it, though.

"And there was that time when I broke my leg after that accident at the lake. We were stupid kids, your brother and I were. You tried to warn us it was silly, but we went anyway. We totaled our bikes after that. I'm still not sure how your brother got away mostly unscathed. I had to spend long days in the hospital. But you'd come by whenever you could, bringing videogames and toys of every kind. And then you'd leave them for me to play with. I told you to stop it, that I couldn't take them, but you never listened to me. So on my last day there I swore to never take anything away from you again. Te juré…don't you remember that time?

And when we went to college together despite aiming for completely different degrees. We somehow managed to stay connected through all the trials. I still found your brother as annoying as ever. But I never pictured either of you as the science type. An archeologist and an epidemiologist? At first I thought myself short-sighted for wanting to be a simple language instructor, but you pushed me through that slump and appreciated my talents. And we walked across that stage together, smiling, crying, diplomas in hand…"

The banging grew louder, and the reinforced door shook due to the force. He tensed after the shudder, but after assuring it was a one-time occurrence, he settled back down. The gun clinked lightly against the door as he readjusted his position.

"You went off into your field, but we never lost contact with each other. Don't you remember being so happy when you heard scientists discovered a new type of bacteria? You were so excited to be one of the first people in the world to study it, and I was happy for you. It was the finding of a lifetime, me dijiste. A bacteria that could cure cancer, could end world hunger, could even extend human life."

He let out a dry sob.

"Do you remember when you told me about the field studies? You said how horrible they were. Humans injected with the bacteria degenerating into something worse than a wild animal. Once healthy people now dangerous monsters straight out of a horror movie. I can't forget the fear in your eyes, the guilt of having contributed to the growing pandemic. The subjects had somehow escaped, and with them, the bacteria. Growing out of hand. Covering every part of the world. I let you stay at my place until the whole ordeal blew over. Everything would be alright, I promised you. We were close friends—mejores amigos—and we'd never let something as crazy as the apocalypse stop us.

I just wish we'd known about your infection."

He leaned his head back against the still jerking door.

"What was it like," he whispered softly, "as you slowly lost your mind? Did you even realize it? It was only little things you forgot at first. Then bigger things. Important things. Like your resolve to eradicate this disease. But did you ever forget about me? As your mind deteriorated and anger took root, could you even recognize me as your friend anymore? I hope you didn't forget. I really do.

I can't imagine living here without my best friend. But, hombre, I can't stand to see you like this for another second. You were kind to me. You enlightened me. I'm lost in a world without you by my side."

Silence. The man at first did not pay heed to the stillness, his mind having long tuned it out. But his heart quickened when the quietness filled his ears. He twisted, lifting himself to one knee, shotgun held firmly in both hands, finger on the trigger. His breaths turned shallow as he stared at the door. Nothing could be heard beyond it. With a tentative fist he knocked.

A low, menacing, and inhuman growl answered it. He released a tense sigh.

"I don't know what to do. You would; you were always the thoughtful one. Unlike me and your brother. We never could reach him, remember? It was like he disappeared off the face of the earth after you came to live with me. I was never the one to be optimistic of his fate, but you were so sure he was safe. Don't you remember? You would spend hours talking about him probably stuck with a bunch of other survivors; maybe even protecting them from the infected humans. Who's to say?

But I can't live like this anymore. Ten months of hiding, running, scavenging, protecting my home from lunatics, keeping you…I just can't. Something has to give!"

He looked at the shotgun poised in his arms.

"Was this what it was like? You did spend many days talking to yourself. Am I infected too? Did you give me your disease? But you were never one to hurt others, least of all a friend. Right? It's like I have so many choices, and yet no choice at all. Do you understand me? Am I making any sense?"

The pounding grew louder before suddenly stopping. A whimper of sorts could be heard behind that door. His soul shattered at the noise.

"Should I join you? Do nothing and let nature take its course? Lose my mind, assuming I haven't already, to this disease? Grow angry until I can't think clearly anymore? But I can't do that. You'd be stuck in that basement for the rest of your life; no one would be able to free you. You'd never see the sun again. Never get to relax in the park again. Never get to read. Never get the chance to smile at me or find your brother ever again. I could never rest with the thought of you trapped for all eternity."

He looked at his gun.

"I…I could help you in another way. It'd be quick. Perhaps even painless. B-but…but I can't do that either. I swore— _swore_ —to you I'd never take anything from you again. And I have kept that promise for the twenty-two years since then. Even if you no longer see me as a friend, even if you no longer see me as human, I cannot go back on my word to un amigo. The very act might probably kill me now. I…"

He swallowed thickly.

"I could just end it all now. For me. You'd probably never even realize it. I could join you down there for a few moments. Before you even noticed I was there. We'd be together for a very brief while at least. I could go happy, knowing you were there by my side until the end. But…heh heh…would you believe I'm too scared to die? I don't want to. I really don't want to die, hombre. Not like that. And what's to say what will happen to me once I'm gone. Will you let the maggots devour my body until there's little more than bones left? Or will you do it yourself? And should you ever regain your senses, I don't want to be a permanent, painful reminder to you of your madness for the rest of your life."

Soft thumps signaled that something was moving slowly down the basement steps, growing fainter as it traveled further away. He remained silent until the noise completely vanished, leaving only the ring of lamentable silence to fill the air. The night stretched on for many hours this way.

The man eventually stood. With slow movement, he reaffirmed his grip on the shotgun.

"Que Él nos perdone."

He unbolted the door without a word and opened it, revealing himself to the darkness within.

With delicate fingers he took hold of the sole lit candle and walked calmly down the stairs, the door automatically, slowly swinging shut behind him.

It shut.

There was silence.

Then a gunshot rang.


	21. A Father's Protection

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"Man…and I thought the ending to Old Yeller was sad," mumbled America. Cuba smirked proudly at seeing his rival looking so upset.

"Would any of you guys be able to pull the trigger on your closest friend?" wondered Bulgaria to the group.

"I don't know," mused Australia, "I mean, if it's the end of the world, wouldn't you want to keep with you the closest people possible? Who's closer than your best friend?"

"How about your family," answered New Zealand with the smallest hint of sardonicism. Australia rubbed the back of his head in slight embarrassment.

"Oh yeah."

"Actually, I'm not too sure," Canada spoke up. When the others stared incredulously at him, he clarified. "Don't get me wrong; family is probably the one thing I can count on in any predicament. But you have to admit that sometimes they can make a problem worse for you, and usually without even realizing it."

"I _really_ hope you're insinuating something," smiled Russia.

"Why you—!"

"Relax, America," Canada grabbed his brother's arm, "Besides, there's more than one way to be oblivious to the damage being done…"

* * *

 **A Father's Protection**

 **Based off of "The Laughing Angel"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

My son is what you might call a 'doormat.' Kind, always willing to help, and generally a happy kid, but more often than not overlooked or taken advantage of. I can't say I blame him; I used to be completely ignored by others even past my teenage years, and I think he 'inherited' that unfortunate quality from me. He's a bit more outgoing than I used to, though, so maybe he'll be able to break the 'curse of being a ghost' sooner than I had.

But there is one problem he faces constantly that I rarely did growing up: bullying. Occasionally I got picked on, but that was more of a tease by the other students to see if the teachers actually noticed me (they did, and those students were promptly punished). But my son has no such luck. Because he is so fond of carrying my old, stuffed teddy bear everywhere, the other kids poke fun at him for it every chance they get whenever they're not ignoring him. They insult him and more than twice tried to steal the old toy he keeps in his backpack. Many days he'd come home crying, telling us what happened after my wife and I'd pry him with concerned questions. The bullying had escalated so much that we had to move him to a different school.

This solution never seemed to work.

After returning home from the fourth school he's transferred to, my wife pulls me aside as our son heads straight for his room, his clothes dirty and disheveled and the corner of his mouth smeared with hastily wiped-away blood. "Matthew, we have got to get him to a safer location. You know this may leave him scarred for life being picked on so young."

"I know, Madeline," I answer her, "But just one more day. My job will have us moving to Calgary the day after tomorrow. I'm sure he can take just one more day." She bites her lip anxiously but says nothing. I decide to share the good news with our kid. As I walk upstairs toward his bedroom, I hear muffled laughter ahead of me followed by a spoken voice. I quickly shrug it off as I'm more than sure my son's talking to himself again about his problems at school. I knock.

"Come in," my son calls out.

"Hey kiddo," I say with a bright smile. He looks back at me with a straight face, teddy bear in hand. "I got some good news. We're moving soon."

"Really?" he asks with eyes growing wide and alit with joy. "Like real soon? Tomorrow soon?"

"No, the day after. I'm afraid you have to still go to school tomorrow."

My son looks down nervously. He has the same look his mother just had. "C-can I not? Can't I just stay home as, like, a special treat for moving?"

"That doesn't make much sense," I chuckle, "Don't you want to say goodbye to all your teachers first? And I know you made a few friends there. You can tell them that you're moving."

"I suppose…" We talk a little more about other things afterwards so as to put his mind at ease. Eventually, I let him be so he could resume his private conversation with himself.

The following morning my son complains that he is too sick to go to school. I highly doubt he is since he was perfectly fine last night, but my wife and I relent in letting him stay home. I am a bit surprised, though, by how uneasy he is after Madeline returned him to his room; I would have thought he'd been excited for not having to see the bullies ever again.

Hours later, while I'm at work, I hear on my phone's radio that there was an attack of some sort at my son's school. I panic for an entire minute before remembering that my son is at home. This calms me somewhat. The announcer doesn't go into much detail about the breaking news, however, leaving me anxious and worried throughout the day despite knowing my son is safe.

When I return home, I immediately seek out my wife. She's sitting in the living room, the evening news on the television. "Matthew! Did you hear?"

"I did. Some of it," I reply to her. "What happened?"

"Someone attacked the school. The police can't find any clues as to who, and there are no reliable eyewitnesses."

"How can that be?"

"I don't know. All they said is that everyone they spoke to gave either inconsistent or implausible reports. But children were hurt, Matthew. Several kids were sent to the hospital, most of them in critical condition. I think they showed one boy bleeding."

"Did you tell—?"

"I haven't told him anything," she hurriedly assures me, "I didn't want him to get upset. But he's going to need to know sooner or later." I know she's right, so best to break the news to him now. I make my way straight to his room, his door closed. I knock gently but get no response. So I peek inside. My son is fast asleep, dreaming peacefully and fully oblivious to the tragedy that befell some of his fellow classmates. I smile guiltily– my son is safe and sound in his bed, but there are some parents who probably wouldn't have that fortune tonight. I spot my old toy dangling loosely in his grip, so filthy after who knows how many years of not washing it. I silently take the bear and carry it to the laundry room to clean it in the washer. I then find my wife again, now in the kitchen that was at the other end of the hall.

"He's asleep; I'll tell him later," I say, "By the way, why'd you let him play with art supplies today? You know he wasn't sick. His bear was covered in red paint."

"Red paint?" my wife frowns, "He's been in bed the whole day, and I would have seen him mess with any paint."

I can't believe my ears at first.

Then I hear faint, muffled laughter from down the hall.


	22. Play Underneath the Moonlight

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

Denmark let out a low whistle. "So never listen to talking teddy bears. Okay. Got it. Lesson learned."

"You seem to have a habit of learning the wrong lesson from these stories," Germany raised a brow at him, "Remember yours from last year?"

"Speaking of last year's stories," France spoke up, frowning slightly before turning his head, "Belarus, you never told a creepypasta then, did you? Not in the traditional sense, anyway."

"And as I said then, I don't have a particular liking for such tales," the Belarusian retorted.

"Oh? Belarus knows some creepypastas? You should share them," grinned Belgium expectantly.

"You must know a ton of scary stories," beamed Moldova.

"Even I want to know what you find unsettling, even if it's downright terrifying for the rest of us," Italy admitted.

Belarus scowled. "No! How many times do I have to tell you that I don't like—"

"Please?" Liechtenstein asked quietly. Belarus narrowed her eyes.

"Bah! Alright, fine. If it'll make you happy and leave me be." Russia patted her head, and his sister pouted somewhat cutely. "I guess there is one story I find a bit unnerving though not really frightening if you ask me…"

* * *

 **Play Underneath the Moonlight**

 **Based off of "Midnight Dancer"  
Credited to Mr. Baubas**

Natalya woke up feeling uneasy. It was late, but something had disturbed her, pushed her to the threshold of consciousness. It hadn't been a nightmare, she was certain of that. What then was upsetting her? The feeling of anxiety was stimulating her nerves.

Sitting up in her bed, Natalya reached for her phone resting on the nightstand. The time on it blinked 1:03 in neon white. Annoyed, Natalya tried to settle back down and return to sleep. That proved impossible as whatever woke her mind was blocking it from returning to the dream world. The oft ignored sixth sense was silently screaming at her to move. But there had been no noises earlier, no glass breaking or door banging from an intruder, no faucets leaking or floorboards moaning. Logically there should be nothing to be scared of.

But by now Natalya had grown restless and she slid herself out of bed. Not really thinking as to why, she headed toward her bedroom window that peered out over the back yard and garden. Throwing back the silky curtains she could glimpse at the full moon glowing eerily onto the earth. Everything outside had a faint, ethereal white tint under its light.

Then she looked down. And in her garden was a tall, unknown man. He was wearing heavy thick clothing which, even for this time of night, was much too excessive for a summer evening. And he seemed to be dancing. This completely caught Natalya off-guard; this wasn't at all what she was expecting to see. The strange man leaped and twirled gracefully with almost the same elegance as a ballerina. It was as captivating as it was ominous. His eyes were closed, so it was a wonder how he knew where he was going or didn't crash into anything.

Natalya watched mostly mesmerized, completely unnerved. This foreboding man seemed harmless, but what in heaven's name was he doing in her backyard? Should she call the police or deal with him herself (she had her weapon of choice—a silver-blue switch knife—in her nightstand drawer for such reasons). But morbid curiosity held her still to find out more of this man's antics. She watched, fascinated, as he leaped back and forth across the lawn, acting completely different depending on his location.

When near the back of the garden, his movements were simple, more controlled, almost hesitant. When closer to the front, they were slower but more pronounced and extravagant, like she was to appreciate his finesse form. It took a few minutes of watching silently to realize that this was supposed to be like a play, and he was an actor for two different people. Her eyes narrowed at the possible implications of who the characters were supposed to represent.

Over time the movements of the 'timid' character began to match in audacity to those of the 'bolder' character, but now they weren't quite as wondrous to look at. They held less restraint, becoming erratic and violent at times. When as the 'bolder' character, the man would occasionally stop and pretend to peer back, as if looking for the 'timid' one. But when resuming the other, he'd pretend to hide or look the other way. Natalya's heart quickened inexplicably, and she swallowed uncomfortably, unable to look away.

The mysterious man suddenly approached the single tree standing proudly in the back of the yard. He bent low to the ground and, from behind its base, he pulled out a long silver-blue knife. Natalya's eyes widened as she saw the familiar item being used to etch something into the trunk. It was difficult to make at this distance and with the man blocking her view, but she had an uncomfortable feeling of what it was.

And then, without any warning, the man looked around, smiling creepily, and staring straight at her with the most unnatural glowing blue (were they even blue?) eyes Natalya had ever seen. Stepping back quickly, Natalya kept enough wits to head directly for her nightstand and pull out—

Her switch knife was gone. With only the first wave of panic now beginning to bubble in her gut, Natalya dashed back to the window. The man had vanished, but the knife—and it was definitely her knife—was jabbed straight into the tree, etched letters now visible though still indecipherable. She scrutinized her backyard, eyes darting to every single shadow cast and every prop the man could possibly hide behind. When absolutely no movement occurred after six straight minutes save the occasional gentle breeze, Natalya warily inched back from the window. She concluded that everything had just been some extremely bizarre nightmare. She crawled back into bed.

It took less than a second to realize she wasn't the only one lying in it.


	23. New Phone

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

Italy was shivering behind his German friend. "Th-that sounds terrifying. Someone sneaking into your bed like that," he whimpered.

"Now you know how _I_ feel almost every night," growled his friend.

Denmark chuckled. "Well that was a pleasant surprise. Honestly, I thought it was going to be like last year and not be scary."

"Hmph!" was all Belarus uttered.

"My only question is why the man was doing what he was," said Cyprus, "Seriously, dancing?"

"Maybe there are just some things never meant to be known," India replied.

"In that case, I'd say stay away from whatever you don't understand," Monaco crossed her arm, "Clearly, it can only lead to trouble if you don't."

Bulgaria nodded. "I second that. Even if it seems completely inane, it might just be best to leave things alone when they seem too strange to begin with…"

* * *

 **New Phone**

 **Based off of "The Camera Man"  
Credited to ullashy**

It started like a normal evening for me and my friends. The four of us were returning home one night from a small pub in high spirits—our team had won the international football championship match—when Dimitri stumbled over the curb. "Rahat!" he cursed. Then he paused. "Hey! Look at this." The rest of us curiously looked back. In his hand was a sleek, brand-new phone.

"Hey," smirked Feliks, "Where'd you find that?"

"It was just lying here." Dimitri hurried to catch up.

"Aren't you going to return it?" Art asked.

"Are you kidding? Isn't this, like, the latest iPhone model? I say he should keep it!" Feliks held out his hand to see the phone. "Yep! Besides, didn't you say you always wanted one of these?"

Dimitri laughed as he fished for his car keys. "I was hoping to get one a more honest way, you know. Here." He tossed me, the designated driver, the found keys. "Yo, Feliks, get in already." The boy was busy taking selfies in front of Dimitri's car.

"Coming!" But he didn't move immediately, instead messing with the screen before holding the phone out in front of him once more. "Let this be a message to our future selves: the greatest night ever was tonight when our football team totally won the world championships!" We cheered loudly in the background and all climbed in the car. As we drove, I heard Feliks and Art in the back messing with the phone.

"The owner must've been friends with the whole town," said Art, "There are so many people they've either recorded or took pictures of; I can't find more than two of the same person."

"How about you give that back to me," Dimitri turned around in the passenger seat to grab the phone back. I only chuckled lightly at their childish antics.

When we reached the apartment complex we all lived at, I parked the car in a private lot. I then had to help Art and Feliks out since they were clearly the most intoxicated (Dimitri seemed to be handling himself better). As I guided my friends to the building and up the stairs, Dimitri was busy recording us. "You guys all tuckered out? Hahaha!"

"Shut up," Art was beginning to slur his words, "You're one to talk when you dran—whoops!" He'd stumbled climbing up the stairs, tripping back one step before catching his balance. The three of us laughed. "Sh-shut up!"

"Too tired to even make it to your apartment?" teased Feliks, walking up to his door. He lived on the second level while the rest of us lived throughout the third.

"At least I don't have work tomorrow morning," retorted Art with a devious grin, "It's gonna suck being you with a hangover."

"Whatever," scoffed the other. We wished Feliks goodnight and made our way to our own rooms. Dimitri and I soon departed from Art and reached our doors right across from each other. Dimitri handed me his phone as he once again searched for his keys.

"I know I put them here somewhere," he muttered drunkenly, checking each of his pockets no less than five times. I grinned and held up the phone, recording his scavenging. I even provided commentary.

"And it seems that the wild animal is unable to locate his prey, searching around aimlessly as the critter continues to evade his detection. With luck he'll find it before morning or starving to death."

"Quiet you! Found them. Darn it!" The keys tumbled out of his coat pocket and landed on the ground. Grumbling to himself, he picked them up and unlocked his door. Or at least tried to. Perhaps in his drunken state he didn't realize he hadn't turned the key all the way and ended up walking into the still locked door. I burst into uproarious laughter as my friend swore and, correctly this time, unlocked the door. Wiping tears from my eyes, I handed him back his new phone. We then said our farewells.

The following morning I rushed to a café not too far from the apartments. I'd agreed to meet Dimitri there for celebratory breakfast if our team won last night. I burst through the door, crashing into one of the waiters carrying a stack of plates and knocking some dirty knives balanced on top of them onto me. "Sorry!" I hurriedly apologized. The waiter sighed irately, grabbed the silverware and continued on. I mentally groaned and wiped at the front of my shirt. It was smeared with food.

I heard laughter to my right and turned to see Dimitri giggling at me, his phone in hand as he recorded everything. "Morning!" he greeted. Less than amused, I took a seat at the table.

"Maybe you should consider returning that," I said as I took the menu lying in front of my friend.

"Don't worry, I already planned to. I was just implying I wouldn't in front of Feliks," he answered quite happily. "Still, isn't it weird someone would just leave a new phone lying on the side of the street like that? And it's not cracked or anything, so it couldn't have fallen out of someone's pocket."

I shrugged. "Maybe it's sturdier than we give it credit for. All I know is that we should—" I stopped abruptly as my own phone rang. Pulling out the device, I could see it was Art calling me. "Hello?" I answered.

"Where are you guys!?" Art sounded extremely panicked and out of breath. My brows instantly furrowed in confusion.

"We're at the café having breakfast. What's going on? What happened?" By now Dimitri was looking concerned as well.

"It's Feliks. He was hit by a car while walking to work this morning. I saw it happen from my window and rushed to help. Practically everyone from the complex is here now. The ambulance hasn't arrived yet." Sirens could suddenly be heard in the background. "Scratch that. But I'm heading back to my room now. I'm going to get some stuff then drive over to the hospital."

"Alright, we'll meet you there." I hung up and immediately told Dimitri about the grave news. He was out of his seat right when a waitress arrived with his food.

"Come on, let's hurry and meet up with Art. We can all go to the hospital together. Pardon us, miss." We raced out of the café and back to our apartment. Unfortunately, just as we reached the set of stairs leading to the second floor…

"Art!" We raced over to our fallen friend, who seemed to have taken quite a nasty tumble down the steps. His leg was clearly broken and perhaps his nose too, judging by the blood pooling by his head. "Art! Say something!" All we got was a pitiful moan of pain.

"Quick! Help me carry him to my car!" I nodded and lifted Art up as best I could, draping one of his arms over my shoulder. Dimitri mimicked the action, and together he half lifted, half dragged our injured friend to the car. We sped off toward the hospital, though now with the intention of having another of our friends admitted. We drove straight to the emergency entrance. Having no choice, we had to leave Art in the car as we ran inside to get some help. Within minutes we had nurses and hospital staff carting our friend away on a gurney. The two of us were then led to a waiting room.

That's where we waited for fifteen minutes. Dimitri had been pacing around the hall restlessly the entire time; I sat just as listlessly in a seat, my leg bouncing rapidly in agitation. Was Art okay? Was Feliks okay? Had he made it to the hospital yet? I hadn't spoken at all since entering the room, but Dimitri seemed to be channeling my concerns. "I can't take this anymore. I need to know if Art is alright."

"I do too," I tried to reason, "But I'm sure they'll call us when he's stable." Dimitri had to concede to that, but after another ten minutes of waiting his impatience was too much. He marched out of the waiting room, looking for where Art might have been. I followed after him, more in a vain effort to get him back to the lounge. I ended up having to jog to keep up because he had picked up his pace in his search for our friend. We'd wandered into a mostly empty hallway.

"He's got to be here somewhere. And Feliks too."

"Look, we should go back. I'm not even sure if we're allowed to be here."

"There's no reason not to," huffed Dimitri, "There weren't any signs that said we couldn—" A side door had slammed open and struck Dimitri square in the face with a dull _thunk!_ The doctors and nurses on the other side gasped and made other cries of surprise before rushing out and seeing what had happened. They'd managed to strike my friend out cold, perhaps even concussed him. After a rushed apology to me (as if I needed it), one of them called for a gurney while another asked me to go to the waiting room.

But I simply couldn't stay there again. I lied and said I'd go back, but truthfully, I wanted to get as far away from this place as I could. Terrible things were happening to my friends just too quickly and too suddenly for my mind to get a grasp on, and I knew waiting in that room was only going to keep me more anxious by being a constant reminder of where I was. I needed a change of scenery to calm my nerves.

I decided I'd have better luck thinking things through in the hospital's cafeteria.


	24. Today's Class Activity

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

"That can only end well for him," Cuba muttered. Both Japan and China nodded in agreement.

"And to think someplace like a cafeteria could be thought of as creepy," Thailand said.

"Well, if you think about it, any place has the potential to be creepy," stated Lithuania.

Vietnam raised a brow. "Surely you don't mean _any_ place."

"I'm serious," said the man, "I believe any place you can come up with can be considered terrifying in some way."

America shook his head. "No way. What about museums?"

"Getting locked inside one at night," Lithuania responded.

"How about the circus?" asked New Zealand.

"The animals getting loose."

"A classroom?" suggested Canada. Lithuania shivered.

"Are you kidding? Terrible things can happen in the classroom…"

* * *

 **Today's Class Activity**

 **Based off of "The Student"  
Credited to SollyStartles**

Mr. Laurinaitis was just as excited as his students were. Today marked the completion of his very first week of teaching. The young literature instructor had been nervous that his second year students would hate or belittle him since he was so new to the field, but he'd been mildly surprised to find they were quite eager and perhaps thrilled to have a fresh kind of teacher. Just as much as he was making a difference in their lives, so too would they be influencing his.

In celebration of their first week together, and since tomorrow was Halloween, Mr. Laurinaitis allowed his students the chance to dress up as characters from popular literatures (naturally, once word spread of the class's special treatment, the whole school wanted to take part in the festivity, so it quickly became a school-wide event). Anything was fine so long as the students didn't dress inappropriately or wear masks obscuring most of their face.

On this day Mr. Laurinaitis, dressed as the Big Bad Wolf from Little Red Riding Hood, just finished putting up the last piece of decoration for the classroom. He'd spent the morning covering up the windows with black paper to make it seem like night. He even taped Styrofoam tombstones in front of the students' desks, making the whole class resemble a small cemetery.

The first student to enter his classroom was a girl with pigtails and, coincidentally, dressed as one of the three little pigs.

"You better watch out of I'll blow down your house of straw," the teacher joked. The girl laughed politely.

"I like your costume too, Mr. Laurinaitis."

"Thank you."

The other students soon filed in, one dressed as a wizard, another as a vampire, and even one as a Greek hero.

Once the last student marched in, Mr. Laurinaitis closed the door and started roll-call. As he went down the list of names, he noticed that something was off. It wasn't until he called the last student that there was one person whose name he hadn't called. He searched around for the unknown student. He found him, a boy sitting in the far back corner of the room. Mr. Laurinaitis frowned. The boy was clearly breaking one of the only two rules for today: no masks.

"Sir, I believe you are in the wrong classroom," Mr. Laurinaitis approached his desk. "Furthermore, I must insist that you remove your mask. It's against school policy." To be fair, the mask wasn't anything offensive; in fact, it was nothing more than a paper plate with sharpie markings on it: two small dots for eyes, a little triangle for a nose, lines for whiskers, and curves to represent a mouth. If not for how simple it looked, it was almost sort of cute. And the rest of him was wearing normal clothes, no matching outfit for the mask.

Still, rules were rules.

But the boy did not move. Instead, he lounged further back in his chair

A student dressed as some sort of lumberjack glared at the other boy. "Hey, cut it out. Take off the mask already." But the boy merely scoffed in response.

"You're no huntsman, so you don't scare me."

The girl from with the pigtails then rose from her seat. "If you don't take it off then you won't get any treats later for breaking the rules."

The boy with the mask leaned back his head. "I don't have to listen to you. I eat little piggies like you for breakfast."

It wasn't long before the whole class was telling the boy to stop breaking the rules and to take off the mask so they could get on with the lesson. But each time the boy would refuse and come back with some remark. As proud as he was for his students to stand up for him, Mr. Laurinaitis knew he was the one who had to take control of the situation. He stood as tall as he could and stepped toward the masked boy's seat.

"If you don't take off that mask right now, I'm sending you to the principal's office." No response. "That's it." But before he could get another word out, the lights to the classroom went off. With the paper blocking the windows, the room was effectively pitch-black. A few expected yelps were made from the startled students, but a terrified shriek rang out two seconds later, effectively terrifying everybody. Mr. Laurinaitis could sense his students make a wild dash for the front of the room. Several of them were now screaming in fear.

"Open the door! Get us out of here!"

"I can't! The doors locked!"

"Quit joking!"

"Mr. Laurinaitis, please stop this! This isn't funny anymore!"

But the teacher was just as scared as his class. Common sense was fortunately still with him. "Someone turn on the light." Almost immediately there was the click of the light switch flipping. Mr. Laurinaitis looked back to see the majority of his class packed by the door, some still struggling to open it but most staring forward with pale faces and wide eyes. Mr. Laurinaitis followed their gazes.

The masked boy was perched casually on top of the desk the girl with the pigtails had been seated. She was nowhere to be seen. Both the mask and the fake tombstone in front of the desk were now slicked with something that was most certainly not red paint.

The boy chuckled and looked directly at the teacher. "Now let's see who's the bigger, badder wolf."


	25. Why Can't I Speak?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

Canada whistled lowly. "Can honestly say I wasn't expecting that," he said.

"Same here," nodded his brother.

"That was a most interesting tale," agreed India, "I look forward to whoever wishes to follow up on it." A shaky hand slowly rose into the air.

"Um…I'd like to go, if it's alright," Liechtenstein spoke, her voice trembling only slightly.

Norway cast her a soft, concerning look. "Are you sure? You don't have to push yourself into telling a scary story if you don't wish to."

Denmark gawked at him. "What? Everybody's supposed to tell one creepypasta. That's how this all goes." Before Norway could even retort, Iceland beat him to it.

"Shut up about that. She doesn't have to if she doesn't want to. Be a bit more considerate." The Dane looked thoroughly chastised by this.

But the young nation didn't seem deterred. "N-no, I want to tell a creepypasta just like the rest of you. If Switzerland could do it, then I can too."

Taiwan patted her on the back. "That's the spirit! We know you got this." Liechtenstein smiled nervously before taking a calming breath to ease her nerves.

"I don't know many scary stories, but perhaps this one can do…"

* * *

 **Why Can't I Speak?**

 **Based off of "It Hurts A Bit" and "The Dying Patient"  
Credited to Conbz and its anonymous author, respectively**

I…I don't know what's going on. Brother, where are you? I can't see anything. My eyes won't open for some reason. Are you there? Why can't I speak?

It hurts, brother. My legs and arms and chest. Everything hurts. Why? Was it because of the accident? I vaguely remember a pair of headlights coming toward us as we were driving last night. You swerved out of the way, and I think you crashed. I can't remember too well.

Is this a hospital? I think it is. I can feel a thin blanket over me. Whatever I'm lying on feels like a bed. And there is a smell that I know is supposed to be familiar but I can't quite recognize, like my mind is blocking out the information from me. And I think there are wires connected to me; something is making the crook of my arm throb dully.

I'm scared, big brother. Every so often someone comes up to me and hurts me. It's not really painful, it's just a pinch or a prod or a quick sting, but I almost never get any warning before they do it. Then they mumble something I can't understand; my brain won't let me. The only noise it seems able to register is the soft _beep…beep…beep_ that sounds behind me all the time.

I try speaking to them whenever I can, but my throat doesn't work. My muscles are so relaxed, like I'm not even trying to move them. But I am, and all the time. It frightens me how much I want to say something and simply can't. The same is for my eyes; once someone opened them for me and shined a light in my face. That stung a little, or at least the pain felt distant, but it was still uncomfortable. They were shining the light in my eye for so long, and I wanted to tell them to please stop. But I couldn't open my mouth.

Brother…is that you? I hear someone's voice, and it's so familiar. I think it is you! Oh brother, can we please go home? I don't like staying here. I know the doctors are only trying to help, but nothing seems to be working. I want to wake up and see you and tell you how much I've missed you. I can feel your hand around mine. The sensation is distant and a bit strange…but it's warm. But why…why do I feel droplets? Are you crying? Please don't cry, big brother. If it makes you happy I can stay here a bit longer.

It's nice hearing you talk. I like that you speak to me every day just like we used to. I'm starting to recognize more and more words. I can understand you now. Thank you. But you don't have to cry as you talk. Please don't feel sad for me; the doctors' tests don't bother me as much as they used to. I wish I could tell you that, but all I can do is listen to your voice and the droning _beep…beep…beep_.

Big brother, I have some wonderful news for you! I felt a muscle in my throat move today! It was while I was trying to call out your name; I felt the smallest of pulls. I know it's been a very long time since I spoke, but I'm so excited. Hopefully very soon I can talk to you once more. Won't you please come back soon?

B…brother? Why are you holding my hand more tightly than normal? And why are you trembling? Is something wrong? I could hear your and a doctor's voice outside a moment ago, talking about something. Was it about me? Am I going to have to stay here even longer? I don't mind, big brother, just please don't be sad. I don't want you to cry either. I'll go through whatever tests the doctors want to do if it'll make you happy. See? I'm not crying; I don't care about whatever the doctor is poking my arm with. It stings more than usual, but I don't mind. I just don't want to hear you cry anymore.

I don't want to hear you cry anymore.

Please stop…

Please…

…so…tired…

 _Beep…beep…beep…_

… _beep…_


	26. When You're Asleep

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

"Okay, does telling scary stories so nonchalantly run in your family or something?" America was staring at the young girl. Liechtenstein blushed, whether of pride or embarrassment was hard to tell.

Several of the other nations had slightly blanched. "What a horrible way to go, aru," murmured China.

"Being unable to see has got to be the worst," said Moldova, "I mean, just…" He shivered, unable to get the words out.

"I suppose going without sight is quite awful," Russia mused on, "But wouldn't you say losing your hearing is just as bad?"

"I see what you're getting at, Russia," nodded England, "But humans in general rely on sight before sound."

The Russian chuckled. "Oh, I am not saying otherwise. It's just that sometimes there will be situations where you don't have sight, so it'd be rather unfortunate if you couldn't even depend on the next best thing…"

* * *

 **When You're Asleep**

 **Based off of "Sound Asleep"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

Don't you love sleep? Or rather, more specifically, that feeling of complete rejuvenation after waking up from a long slumber? It's just one of the best feelings ever! Of course, you only ever feel this if you manage to get a full night's sleep, which can be difficult in today's bustling and noisy world.

Fortunately, the body does a pretty good job accomplishing this. It is, for example, pretty good at tuning out noise less than 45 decibels, give or take a few. All things considered, that's pretty good; that means your mind doesn't have to waste energy distinguishing whether every little noise is a perceived threat. That means if you're sleeping deeply enough you more than likely won't awaken to anything less than normal conversation, which is about 60 decibels.

Or to a door opening, roughly 30 decibels loud.

Or to footsteps, about 20 decibels.

Or to quiet breathing, only 10 decibels.

Or to someone staring at you, an astonishing 0 decibels.

Oh well. Anyway, I hope you sleep well tonight!


	27. Unwinnable By Design

***Sincerest apologies for being unable to update yesterday :( Tomorrow there'll be a second update to make up for it**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

No one could speak for the longest time after Russia told his tale. Everyone was too unnerved to speak. Moldova even shivered.

"Russia, can I speak with you afterward about something?" Romania narrowed his eyes at the man.

"Da! Sure thing!" smiled innocently the taller nation. The others released their nervous breaths.

"Well, Icy? Aren't you having fun?" Denmark suddenly grinned at the boy, "I mean, we're almost done, and soon we'll all be heading back to our houses like this never happened. Can't you at least say you're enjoying yourself before we split?" Iceland huffed.

"What I feel right now isn't of any concern to you guys. I'm not obligated to discuss my emotions whenever you feel like it." He crossed his arms, a faint blush forming. "But…what I feel is irrelevant to the fact of the situation. I guess I can say this is…fun."

"That's great to hear!" America slapped an arm over his shoulders. "It's a shame we can't do this every year; don't think my boss will be too pleased to know I goofed off again." He chuckled. "Even I hate to admit that fun things must come to an end. But perhaps that's for the best. Because, who knows, maybe endless fun just isn't all that enjoyable to begin with…"

* * *

 **Unwinnable By Design**

 **Based off of "NoEnd House"  
Credited to Brian Russell**

Jones stared at the building in front of him. Then at the small post-it with the address in his hand. Then back at the building. Yep, this was definitely it. The Eternal Mansion. Jones sighed heavily. Why was he doing this again?

Oh. Right. Because his friends had dared him to and he really needed the $600 reward for this month's rent. Okay, mostly the latter but shutting the guys up in the process would be a nice plus too. And probably completing the attraction that showed up last month would get him some local recognition. No one has ever managed to make it through the eight rooms in the mansion; in fact, rumor goes that no one could even get past the fourth.

But tonight Jones was going to end that. Taking a calming breath, he stepped through the make-shift metal gate and approached the attraction. They weren't kidding when they said it was a mansion. This slowly deteriorating gothic-style mansion could clearly hold more than eight rooms; perhaps only eight were open to the public. Jones settled on that reasoning as he stepped through the oaken front door.

He was relieved to find himself in a welcoming foyer with cute, handmade Halloween decorations about. Tiny ghosts made from napkins, paper streamers, and what might have been a little kid's third attempt at drawing a scary witch. But there was also a table with a receptionist behind it. On a sign next to the table were the words "Eternal Mansion. Challenge begins in Room 1. Complete all the rooms to win prize! $1000." Whoa, a thousand dollars!? That could easily pay for rent and maybe a new laptop for school.

"Welcome!" the receptionist cheerily greeted the young man with a smile. "I'll assume you are here to take on the Eternal Mansion?"

"Yes ma'am," grinned Jones, writing his name down in the guest book. So he was to be the one-hundredth person to attempt this? That was a good omen. One-hundred was usually a lucky number. "So all I have to do is make it to the end and I win?"

"Correct!" she said, "If at any point you wish to end the challenge there is a side door you can take to come back to the front. But please be warned that after the fourth room you will not be allowed to leave and must complete the challenge to return back here."

"Can't I just go back?" frowned Jones.

"I'm sorry, but due to the nature of this house, it's impossible to go back out a door you just went through." Something about her phrasing did not sit right with the man, but he eventually shrugged it off as her way of saying the doors probably locked after they were shut. Whether this was because of how the doors were originally designed or if the technical team wanted to add in a bit more horror didn't matter; it was a pretty neat feature if he thought about it. Go big or go home.

"Alright, I understand. Where do I start?"

"Right down there, sir." She pointed to a door with a small plated '1' on it behind her and to the left. "When you reach the end, you'll come out through the door across from this one. Good luck!" And he stepped through the first door.

The first room was an absolute joke. It was a simple and bland area. Grey walls and carpet with a fog machine in the corner. It wasn't large either, the size of maybe a living room. Two doors other than the one he came through could be seen: one straight ahead that clearly led to the next room, and one to his left that had a sign dangling over it reading "EXIT". Jones snorted and easily stepped over to the door with the '2' leading to the next room.

The second room was a bit more unsettling, but not at all in the creepy sense. Someone decided to turn all the vents on in this room. It was cold. Oh, and now there was a doll that looked like a sexy devil girl dangling from the ceiling. So spooky. But at least they did a better job at hiding the smoke machine; he guessed it must be behind a fake wall of something. Otherwise, it was pretty much the same room as the previous, albeit maybe slightly bigger. Chortling to himself how easy this was going to be, Jones entered the third room.

The third room was…freaky. The first thing Jones noticed once he entered it was how simple it was. Everything was painted a bright, almost glowing white. No furniture was present, no decorations. And it was absolutely silent. Unnerved, Jones stepped in cautiously, slowly closing the door behind him. This room was comparably bigger than the last. And now the exit and the door leading to the next room were both on the opposite end of the room.

As he walked toward the door leading onward, there was a progressively increasing sound of something being split. Or cracked. Or…eaten. Jones's heart pace quickened tenfold as he glimpsed at shadows on the space of wall between the doors, them growing steadily more apparent as he approached. Two resembled human silhouettes crouched over a third, unmoving one. And the two seemed to be…eating…

About ready to throw up now, Jones rushed through the door, entering the fourth room.

Everything was completely dark. Absolutely dark. So dark that even the brief flooding of light from the previous room didn't come close to penetrating so much as a foot inside. The darkness was a thick veil concealing existence itself. Even sound ceased to be in this room. Jones couldn't even see the frames of his glasses in his periphery. He supposed the doors were somewhere on the other side…however far that was. Jones stumbled blindly through the room, swallowing loudly. Sweat began to roll down the side of his face as he groped around for a doorknob.

Then began the whispers. They were immediately noticed the moment they started, shattering the utter silence like a blow horn. Initially it was impossible to make out their words, but the longer he stayed in this room, the more Jones could comprehend them.

Abhorrent. Loathsome. Disgusting.

Murmurs of hate filled words crept into his ears, barraging his spirit with such vehemence at what he was. Doubt slowly started to corrupt his soul. It was like these angered voices were spoken right next to his very ears. But that couldn't be!

Without any forewarning, the lights flickered on, illuminating the entire room for the briefest of moments. Enough to know where the two doors were located. Enough to see the walls were as blinding white as the previous room.

Enough to see that there was absolutely no one else in the room.

The instant the light vanished the voices returned, practically shrieking at the young man. It was like an enraged army was charging behind him, ready to slit his throat the chance they caught him.

REPULSIVE! PATHETIC! ATROCIOUS!

Jones screamed and raced as fast as his legs could possibly go to the doors. For one life-changing second he hovered his hand over the door handle to the exit…but…he couldn't. He needed to keep going. Wasting not another precious second, he spun and grabbed the handle to the door to the fifth room. He flung himself through, slamming the door shut behind.

This room was vastly different to all the previous rooms in the entire building. For the briefest of moments Jones thought he was outside. This room had trees growing tall out of the floor, which was covered in soft grass. And the room was so large that he could see neither the ceiling nor the other walls. A hazy yellow light was the only sort of illumination, serving also as the room's "sky".

Jones walked leisurely through this room, enjoying its calming atmosphere. This fun house kept getting stranger, toying with his emotions in ways he was starting to tolerate less and less.

As he traversed through the seemingly endless room, he spotted glittering piles scattered all throughout the "forest". Approaching one he almost couldn't believe what he was witnessing. These were stacks of solid gold bars! Like the entire supply at Fort Knox amount! With eyes so wide they stung, he reached for one. Surely they couldn't be real…

They were! These were _real_ gold bars!

 _Holy crap! Just one of these could set me for life!_ he thought to himself with a slow-forming grin. Except they were heavy. Just one required using both hands and all of his strength to lift. And if the next rooms were anything like the previous, these bars may cost him dearly.

 _But I don't know that. The future rooms could end up like this one._

No, that was a stupid assumption. More than likely this room was serving as the "breather" level. He couldn't be distracted from his task.

 _But why would these be put here if not for me to take?_

N-no…no! He had to get out of this room; the desire to take a gold bar was beginning to overcome his common sense. He hurried to where he hoped was the other side of the room, all the while passing more and more piles of gold, each pile larger than the last. And with every single piece he passed, his inner self would plead, argue, rage at him to bring at least one piece with him. The wrath that welled inside him was terrifyingly foreign; it was like another person altogether was cursing and insulting him for not trying to increase his wealth.

Jones ran, but there was no escaping yourself. Almost against his will his eyes would divert to the gold. On more than one occasion he steered himself toward a pile. It took all of his willpower to keep himself on track.

 _Just take a freaking bar already! Am I absolutely asinine!? There's no end to this room anyway! As if they'll miss one stupid little bar!_

He needed to find the exit. This house was messing with his mind and was going to leave psychological scars. Except this was room five, wasn't it? There was no exit. Heart pounding, Jones sped through the forest and by some miracle spotted the wooden door with the metal '5' that led to the next room.

As if it had a mind of its own, his body veered to the nearest pile of gold. Stunned by the involuntary action, Jones did the first thing he could think of: he purposely angled his feet to trip over them. He stumbled, bruising and cutting himself against the sticks and rocks on the ground. The pain granted him control of himself again, and before he really knew it he was scrambling on hands and knees to the door. He reached up and turned the handle before almost rolling into the next room.

He was in a black room. Not darkness– the walls, ceiling, and floor were all painted black. But the other end was once again nowhere to be seen. Jones could have sworn that, while larger than average, the building shouldn't be able to contain rooms these large, let alone a forest. He took one step forward.

" _Follow me!"_

Jones yelped and jumped. That was the first time someone physically spoke to him, and it hurt his ears. Before him appeared a tiny angel. The hovering little boy smiled. _"Hurry! Follow me!"_ it repeated before zipping off. Jones did so, chasing after the white-clad child without a reason not to.

But when what felt like hours passed and his legs began to tremble, Jones began to question his decision. He slowed. _"Hurry! Follow me!"_ the angel had glanced back and was beckoning him forward.

"G…give me a sec…" huffed the man.

" _Hurry! Follow me! Hurry!"  
_  
"I said wait!"

" _Hurry!"_

Growling, Jones took a step toward the flying boy. He flew off. But Jones then turned left and went his own way.

" _No! Follow me!"_ The angel tried to grab Jones's attention. But the other wouldn't have it, ignoring him. Huffing, the angel zoomed in front of him.

" _Fine! Follow me!"_ And he continued down the direction Jones had been going. But, snorting, the man turned again, now heading in the exact opposite direction of the angel.

" _No!"_ the angel shouted again, and again flying in front of Jones to lead the way. But Jones would always go down a different direction whenever the angel did this. After the seventh time doing this, Jones heard a deep growl of _**"NO!"**_

Without thinking, Jones looked back. He regretted it. The cute little angel had transformed into a hideous devil, a goat's head perched atop a man's body, embers spilling from his tattered raven's wings. _**"FOLLOW ME, JONES!"**_ it roared, charging forward. Jones did the sensible thing his mind thought of and ran. He ran with that demon pursuing him, ran until his legs threatened to fall off from overexertion, ran until his lungs could no longer provide sufficient oxygen to the body.

The door! Almost blended in entirely with the wall. Jones was wheezing as his hand clasped around the cold metal of the knob. The hellish beast roared as he yanked the door open, his arms screaming with the motion, and dashed past.

It was the seventh room, and Jones blinked in surprise. It was a copy of the very first room, minus the fog and exit door. In the center of the room was a piñata hanging from the ceiling and, laying on the floor in front of it, a baseball bat. And the door was pretty odd too; above the knob were two keyholes. Slightly confused, Jones walked up to the bat. Grabbing it with tentative hands, he swung. The papier-mâché toy craft fell and crumpled slightly, but not enough to release its contents. Jones swung again, battering it until sparkling red glitter gushed forth, followed by a key. Jones grabbed the key. He put the key in the first lock, hearing a satisfying click once turned. But what was he to do for the second lock? Had he missed the second key in all that spilled glitter? He was almost sure he hadn't.

Jones turned back toward the piñata.

His face paled to a ghostly white.

There on the floor, directly below where the piñata had hung, was a young woman, naked, bound, gagged, and obviously terrified and confused.

And where the bat had been laid a knife.

Jones felt sick; he was very close to throwing up again. When he managed to quell his stomach, he shouted toward the ceiling, toward any possible hidden microphones or cameras. "Are you guys insane!? You can't seriously be asking me to—!" His eyes darted to the girl, widening a fraction of an inch upon connecting. "No! I refuse!" He received no answer. Swearing, he turned toward the door where he'd entered from.

He found it gone.

Breathing escalating, he spun around. No, this was impossible. The only door in this room was the locked '8' door. But he had to have come through another door to get here. But there was no other door.

Jones paced. There…there had to be another way out. There had to be! Periodically he'd glance at the girl, and whenever she caught him doing so she'd start trembling anew. No! He couldn't! He pounded against the walls, yelling for anyone to let him out, he didn't want to continue. He didn't care about the money anymore. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to forget ever coming to this mansion. When calling for help didn't work, he tried to ram the walls down. But the deceptively vintage walls held firm, not so much as denting beneath his force. He did this for what felt hours until he was sure he fractured something in his arm.

Panting in agony and exhaustion, Jones moved to a corner of the room, sitting with one arm around his bent legs. This couldn't be happening…this couldn't be happening…this was a nightmare. All of it. Perhaps if he didn't do anything then someone would come and check on him to make sure he was alright. They were liable for his well-being, right? But as the minutes stretched into hours, and the hours into a day, Jones knew that wasn't so. He found himself looking more and more at the knife, feeling dread slick his veins like poison when he did. The girl had resumed whimpering behind her gag, something she had started about an hour or two ago as they remained in the otherwise quiet room.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't. There was no way he could become a murderer for something like this. Money was never worth a person's life. But ever so slowly his subconscious self was realizing there was no other way to escape.

He had to kill the girl.

With horribly shaky breath Jones stumbled to his feet. The young woman immediately honed in on his actions. Her muffled screams reached beyond the cloth as she watched him, with unsteady hands, lift up the knife.

"I-I so s-sorry…" Jones was stammering, true regret fueling his words. Tears welled down his cheeks as he hovered the knife closer to the woman. She began to squirm violently, but Jones knew she was completely helpless. He had to do it quickly, before his already shredded mind could lose what little resolve it had.

But how could you kill someone painlessly with a knife? Cut their throat? Absolutely not; he'd heard stories of beheaded people still retaining their consciousness. Should he strike through the skull? Maybe, but would he be able to hit the part of the brain that ended her heart quickly? And how much force would he need to use? Jones shuttered violently. The girl was wreathing to get away from him.

He had no choice. With swift motion, he turned the girl onto her back and plunged the knife through the chest, straight into her heart before wrenching it back out. His own heart nearly stopped as she spasmed. Her gag soaked up the blood spewing from her mouth. Jones felt cold when she fell still so suddenly. He wanted to drop the knife right then and there, but he couldn't. The blood that soaked its blade looked to have eaten away at excess metal, revealing key-like teeth along its edge. Mindlessly, he stood to his feet and trudged to the locked door. He mutely inserted the red-stained knife into the lock, twisting it.

The lock clicked.

The eighth door opened.

And Jones walked inside.

The room beyond was an endless void. Grey fog all around, no walls, no ceiling, no doors. Jones stepped through, walking with no purpose. He marched on with only his thoughts to himself. And time. He had a lot of time. Years felt to have passed as he walked endlessly. And during all that time he questioned his own existence. His reason for being here. He questioned all the actions he'd ever taken in his life. He questioned every emotion his heart ever felt. He questioned how the soul can feel heavy and yet be something less than tangible. He questioned whether it was willpower or life force pumping that kept him walking.

He questioned. And he received not an answer for any of them.

Centuries later, he noticed a light. It was the first beautiful thing he had seen since entering this…hell. He approached it, weary acceptance growing as the light took form of an archway. He stepped through the threshold…

…And Jones found himself standing in the cool night air. The sudden change in scenery required several minutes to fully register. He spun around, noticing he was staring at the back entrance of the mansion. He had come all the way through; he passed all eight rooms. He frowned, barely able to recall someone telling him he should have ended up in the mansion's foyer. But lying in front of him was an envelope, and opening it, Jones found ten $100 bills packed neatly inside. He scowled. Had…had all of that torment really been worth it? He was probably going to need a psychiatrist for years.

Jones managed his way back to the front of the building, not bothering to look back as he walked down the road to his car. He drove home, emptiness and dread swallowing him as he pulled into the lot. He gripped the envelope tightly as he pulled out the keys to his apartment door. There it was, he thought grimly, as the entrance to his home drew closer. The entryway to his haven, his sanctuary, from the madness of the world. He pressed the key into the lock, snapping unlock the familiar metal door with the equally metallic '9' on its front.


	28. Beach House

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

Several nations looked uneasy. "Nice to know where not to go visit," chuckled Lithuania nervously. America nodded sagely.

Belgium leaned against her brother. "I'm not too sure I could handle an authentic haunted house. What's to say the spirits don't mean harm?"

"Nine times out of ten I bet they do," muttered Cuba.

"Whoa, why does everyone think it's the spirits you need to be afraid of?" Australia blinked.

Taiwan raised a brow at him. "What else is there to be scared of in a haunted house?"

"Uh, how about the house itself…"

* * *

 **Beach House**

 **Based off of "The New House"  
Credited to moldyzombie7**

I couldn't have been any happier at that moment.

"This place is amazing, Jett!" my younger brother, Christian, called out. I smirked as our cousins Isabelle and River also inspected the exterior of our newly inherited beach house. "And you're saying we were just _given_ this?"

"Yep!" I grinned wider. About six months ago we received a mysterious letter from our supposed great-uncle that we inherited this beachside house after his passing. Of course I was skeptical by the news, but once I was shown the will and taken to this house by the executor I couldn't believe it. It took ages to convince our parents to refurbish it, and now, with it being our summer holidays, we're finally going to stay in it for a month.

The property was indeed beautiful. With nothing but a mile of flat beach on three sides and an ocean in front, the white two-story structure stood majestically on top of a lone dune. Glass windows covered half the sides, and we could see the two bedrooms, the kitchen, and the dining area, all lavishly garnished. It was perfect for the four of us.

This was to be our paradise on Earth.

We stepped inside, the floorboards creaking slightly as we dragged our luggage into the living area. "Beautiful." River whistled in amazement. His little sister puffed out her cheeks.

"It's smaller than I thought it'd be. I wanted my own room."

"Aww, but we used to share a bedroom together before, Izzy," smiled River, "Don't you remember?" He ruffled her brown hair.

"Riv!" she seethed, blushing slightly, "I was a baby then!" Her brother laughed.

I clapped my hands, getting their attentions. "I guess with the rooms pretty much settled, let's unpack and rest for today. Tomorrow we can hang out on the beach." Everyone gave their varying degrees of agreement.

But when I awoke the following morning, I was greeted by an unpleasant noise. Rain pounding against my window. "What?" I didn't understand; the weather was supposed to be clear for at least a week. Sullen, I took a quick shower and started breakfast for my family.

"What the hay?" grumbled little Isabelle as she and River came downstairs. "Why's it raining?" The pounding outside only grew louder in response.

Christian was already waiting in the dining area with me, hot stack of pancakes on his plate. "Sorry, squirt," he said sympathetically, "We'll have to go swimming once it stops."

"I wonder when that will be," I sighed. We had checked before leaving to make sure we'd have clear skies. "This is probably a freak storm, mates. It'll clear up in no time."

Only it didn't. The torrent came down even harder as the day passed. The four of us had to find things to do inside the house. I never thought twenty rounds of checkers could drive a man close to insane. That day was an absolute waste.

The next day, I woke up with a scratchy throat and my body tingling. Coughing loudly, I vaguely wondered if I was coming down with the flu. Oh, and it was still raining. Not bothered to get out of bed, I rolled over. Maybe I could sleep my illness away or at least until the storm passed.

Our situation was no different by fifth day. Our only source of entertainment was cleaning the house and imagining what it would be like swimming in the crystal-blue ocean and sunbathing on the cloudy white sand. Instead, the waves raged high into the air, flooding the beach until the ocean water all but surrounded our house. What was the point of a gorgeous view if all you could see was a moat?

Food was starting to run low. While we had stocked plenty beforehand, I never took into account how fast four people could eat through food. Unable to get to the jeep to drive to the store, we had no choice but to ration what was left. "Man, Izzy," River moaned as he opened the pantry door, "You've eaten more than we have."

"I have not!" she retorted, "I saw you sneaking snacks into our room last night. Don't blame me."

"Hey, hey. Cool it," I said. We had to keep calm. Even if we were all getting sick, we'd get out of this eventually. It couldn't rain indefinitely.

Our seventh and eighth days were the same as the previous. We had long regretted not bringing some sort of flotation device like a surfboard. As it was, the rain was pouring too violently and the waves raging too powerfully to go outside even if we had one.

I almost always found myself lying on the living area couch. Christian would rest on the floor nearby, once again reading through the limited books he brought with him. River would try in vain to get some sort of signal, whether for internet or to call someone for help by phone. And Izzy would spend hours simply drawing in her notebook. Shame she was down to her last few pages. None of us really had the energy to do anything; all of us too sick to move. By the tenth day, I rarely left my bed.

It was the end of our second week. The rain never once let up. We had run out of food three days ago. We needed to leave, but none of us had the strength to even crawl. The water had risen nearly all the way to the front door.

"J…Jett…" Izzy wheezed as she leaned on my and Christian's bedroom door. I hacked, my throat so dry, sore, and scratchy I could barely use it.

"H-hey…squirt…" I tried to smile, failing miserably, "W…what's up?"

"I'm hun…hungry." That was all she could get out before coughing and huffing uncontrollably, as if completely out of oxygen. I understood the feeling, but what could I do? I guess I could…

"Bro…" I mumbled to my brother, exhausted, after Isabelle left.

"Mhm?" was his lethargic reply.

"Tell Iz…and Riv I'm…" I coughed again, my chest hurting with each breath, "I'm going…to get food." That was assuming the jeep could still function after days underwater. But I had to save my family.

I struggled to roll out of bed. For some reason my sides felt numb. I shuffled to the door, hesitating on where to go. There was no way I could go out through the front; the waters would flood the whole lower floor. With no other choice, I headed for the upstairs balcony. But…something told me to go higher. I needed to go higher. I don't know why. But I passed the door leading to the balcony. I reached the center of the upstairs floor. Above me was the ladder that connected to the sunroof. Using all of my remaining strength, I climbed the steps, practically choking as I ascended. I reached the window and pushed. It was locked.

My head was swimming. I undid the lock and pushed again, but it wouldn't budge. Energy waning, I shoved against the window one more time. I pressed against it with the acceptance that if I couldn't open it, I wouldn't be able to help the others. My consciousness flickered as my ill body trembled. I was about to collapse backwards.

The window unhitched. Then it opened, rain waterfalling directly onto me. I clung tightly to the ladder, not willing to be swept away. I took a step, fighting against the maelstrom and—

I felt nothing. Squinting, I opened my eyes to find bright sunlight practically blinding me. The sound of ebbing waves crashing calming against the shore reached my ears. What on earth…it was a tsunami just a second ago!

I coughed violently. Then I realized I couldn't turn my head easily. Somehow I was buried nearly completely in the sand, only my face above the particles. As a gentle breeze blew more sand into my mouth, I squirmed to dig myself out. As weak and hungry as I was, I was astonished by my inner strength; it took maybe an hour for me to free my upper body. Once I did, I turned to find my family. All of them were just like I had been: unconscious and virtually buried alive. Little Isabelle was nearly completely submerged.

"Hey…hey!" I tried to wake them, but a part of me wasn't surprised they didn't stir. Not about to give up, I clawed at the sand surrounding Christian, the one closest to me. The moment the sand level fell below his ears, my brother started coughing violently.

"Wh…huh? Jett?"

"Don't ask, just dig," I ordered, pointing to our cousins. Together, after him having to get himself out, we shoveled the sands away from River and Isabelle. They awoke just as confused as we were. Another four hours were used to free ourselves from our sandy tombs.

The moment Izzy could stand, I lifted her into my arms. We were getting out of here. Now. I led the way to the jeep, Christian and River grabbing what few belongings they could get. It was totally surreal; somehow, someway our entire beach house had been swallowed up by the sand. We reached the jeep, me thanking every deity I could think of that the keys were in my pocket. As I sped off, ready to check us into the nearest hospital to make sure we were all fit enough after two weeks buried in sand, I stared in the rearview mirror at our once beautiful paradise home.

The structure was in complete shambles. The painted had long faded because of the elements; barnacles coated the sides. Sand poured in through every opening and shattered window, and the roof was half collapsed.

How we survived that long with no food, no water, and no shelter is beyond me. Maybe the house really did want us to be in paradise.

But it would have been a paradise that could never be reached by the living.


	29. Seek

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners.**

* * *

"Not bad," admitted New Zealand, "Definitely one of the better endings we've heard."

Cyprus nodded. "Yeah. I'm glad he got to save his family in the end."

China sighed, earning Japan's attention. "What's wrong?"

"Oh? It's nothing to worry about. It's just…I think losing your family is one of the scariest things that could happen."

"Naturally," spoke India, "Your family is one of the most precious things in life. Losing it would be harrowing."

The Chinese man made a noise of acknowledgment. "At least I know that they're safe for now…"

* * *

 **Seek**

 **Based off of "Omi and Yokai of the Field"  
Credited to VoxPerNox**

Yao was a poor young man with only a farm and a field to his name. His land stretched for acres, almost as far as the eye could see, where he planted crops to feed himself and his five younger siblings. Their lives were simple but busy. Twice a day, once before the sun rose and again after the noon meal, Yao would head out to tend the fields. It was an hour hike just to reach the other end of his land, and for five hours straight he would work, sowing and tilling and harvesting the crops. On rare occasions the second oldest brother, Kiku, would accompany him. But he favored remaining at the tiny house with his siblings to play hide-and-seek. Yao didn't mind. Though they were still children, each day they obediently completed their tasks of house cleaning before starting their game.

One brisk autumn morning, as Yao was inside and preparing to start the day's work, he peeked out the window. There, far in the distance, was a shadowy figure simply standing in the field. Yao blinked and rubbed his eyes, making sure he was indeed awake. No, there was definitely something in the field. But whether it be a man, an animal, or a _yaoguai_ he could not tell from this distance. Silently so as not to wake his sleeping family, Yao grabbed his tools, taking care to include the sickle among them. When he walked past the window again, the figure was gone.

"Big brother?" Yao turned around to see little Kiku rubbing his eyes, staring up tiredly at the eldest sibling.

"Go back to sleep," Yao smiled gently as he covered the window with a straw blind. The boy nodded before laying his head back down. Unease flowed through the oldest son, so to mitigate it he called out quietly, "Kiku."

"Yes?" The boy sat back up. Yao hid the sickle under a low table, just enough so only the handle was visible, the blade hidden completely by the shadows.

"If something happens while I'm not here, use this."

"Okay, but what's going on?"

"Nothing. It's just for your protection." Kiku's gaze travelled between the farm instrument and his brother, but he nodded, saying he understood. Yao then left the house and made his way out through the fields. He did not return until midday.

" _D_ _à_ _g_ _ē_!" All the children ran up to their weary caretaker, carrying food and water and a cup for him. "Eat up!" Little Yong Soo laughed, holding out a dumpling he had made. With a smile on his face, Yao accepted the bread.

"Did anything happen while I was gone?"

"No," answered Kaoru, the youngest of the siblings. His two sisters shook their heads in agreement.

"That is good."

"We were about to play hide-and-seek in the back fields before you came," Yong Soo added. Yao frowned slightly at those words.

"I'd feel more comfortable if you played in the front fields where I'm able to see you."

"How will you see us all the way from where you're at?" Kiku had a point. Yao didn't even have to travel halfway out before the hut was completely out of view.

"I'm not working at the end of the fields today," he told them, wondering in the back of his mind how he was going to harvest those crops furthest from the house by nightfall. The children relented to playing their game in the front and, relieved, Yao finished the rest of the dumplings and water his brothers and sisters offered him. He headed out into the fields once more.

Work was slow as he peered every few minutes toward the pinprick that was his house. Fear tore at him as he wondered what he could have possibly seen earlier. Humans rarely travelled down the lone dirt path that sat a ways from his hut. And the only large animals around this time of year were the wolves. Yao reasoned it couldn't have been them; the shape was wrong. Was it a _yaoguai_ then, a spirit that had stumbled upon his land? If so, why was it here? Had it come to bless his home or curse him?

He peeked up toward the horizon, barely able to see the top of the hut's roof, and watched as something climbed over it. Yao froze. That was the same shadowy figure from this morning, he would bet his life on that. With terror lacing his heart, Yao dropped his tools and ran as fast as he could back home. But as far out as he was, it took over seven minutes for him to return. Anything could have happened by then.

" _Xi_ _ă_ _o xi_ _ōngdì_! _Xi_ _ă_ _o ji_ _ĕmèi_!" Yao cried out for his family. But the house remained silent. Panicking, Yao dashed outside to the back field, praying his siblings had simply ignored his instructions and were playing hide-and-seek there. "Kiku!" He stared out toward the empty fields.

That's when he heard a noise on the other side of the house, like something had fallen. Running back around, Yao could see a broken beam of wood, a piece that helped support the outer edge of the rooftop. Something _had_ been climbing on it. He whipped his head around, looking for anything that could have possibly done it. And then he spotted it. Back out toward the field where he'd been working was the same dark figure from before. Anger and fear spurred him on, and Yao rushed across the field, shouting at the mysterious being. It froze and turned around to face its attacker. At first, Yao felt confident he could manage the stranger himself, but as he got closer he wondered briefly if he should have been armed with more than just his fists.

The being looked human, but it had much paler skin than Yao was familiar with. Its hair was brighter than wheat, a golden shade, and its eyes were such a stunning blue Yao didn't think humans could possess. It wore odd clothes too: a long tattered brown cloak over its white changshan and matching pants. Hanging behind it was a large straw hat, hinting it may be a traveler or foreigner. But looks could be deceiving, especially if it turned out this person was a…

"Are you human or _yaoguai_?" The being with the blue eyes seemed surprised, and Yao realized he didn't have time to waste with it. "What have you done to my family?"

The being blinked again in bewilderment. Then it smiled sadly and spoke in a male's voice, "They're at your house. If you hurry you can still be the hero and save them."

"What did you say!?" His family had been—no—still was in danger? He almost collapsed at the thought of it but, completely ignoring the man who reached out to catch him, he spun on his heel and raced back toward the hut. His muscles were now beginning to scream at him, telling him just how exhausted he was becoming after laboring and then running through the fields. His legs wobbled as he stepped through the threshold.

"K-Kiku! Yong Soo!" No reply. "Wanwan! Hue! Kaoru!" Nothing. Yao turned to leave and was greeted with the sight of the stranger suddenly in front of him. His heart racing now due to shock, it took a moment before he could calm down enough to yell out, "Where are they, demon? You said they'd be here." The _yaoguai_ narrowed his eyes coolly.

"I never said that," he replied defensively as if being wrongly accused. He then tilted his head toward the door. "They're in the back fields. If you hurry you can still be the hero and save them." Yao considered just attacking the spirit now but he hadn't the time. His siblings were in danger. He stumbled out of the house, making his way straight for the back fields once more. He would sprint as far as he could go, which never lasted more than a couple seconds. He panted heavily as he scanned the horizon, finding not a trace of his brothers or sisters.

" _X…xi_ _ă_ _o…xi_ _ōngdì_ …" He could barely call out for his brothers. He fell to his hands and knees. Faint rustling indicated that the blue-eyed _yaoguai_ was approaching from behind. "Demon…" Yao begged, "Just tell me what you did to them. Give me back my family. Please." The spirit said nothing for a long time. Then he held out his hand.

"Come on. They're at the house. If you hurry you can still be the hero and save them."

"No…no…just tell me what you did to them," Yao pleaded, almost unaware of how he grabbed the _yaoguai's_ hand and stood to shaking legs. His sense of self was nearly gone as the spirit pulled him back to the house, promising him that they were indeed hiding inside. Hiding? They weren't hiding, Yao wondered, were they? All this time still playing hide-and-seek?

The steps back inside were torturous. "Ki…ku…" Yao wheezed. He waited. He listened. He received no response. With no ounce of strength left, Yao stumbled to the floor, the _yaoguai_ barely managing to catch him in time. "Mon…ster. You killed them…haven't you?"

"I have no desire to kill innocents," he retorted, readjusting his grip on Yao so he wouldn't slip.

"Stop playing…with me. You think…this is a game?"

"I do not enjoy playing these kinds of games." Pushing himself away, Yao scuttled back, supporting himself against the wall. "I have no desire to see you or your family suffer. I'm here to help you."

Yao took in a shuttering breath. "Then tell me…your name, _yaoguai_. Can you swear on your name…you are here to help?" The spirit gave him another sad smile and spread his arms.

"My name is Yao." Yao's eyes widened.

"No…it isn't! Tell me your real name, demon!"

"My name is Yao. And I look after my younger siblings Kiku, Yong Soo, Wanwan, Hue, and Kaoru. We live on a farm together, just the six of us."

"That's enough!" He charged at the monster, his fist raised high. But easily the spirit caught it in his grasp. Yao cried out in pain. "Just give me your name."

"I am the Dragon King, here in disguise to grant you your heart's desires." Yao pounded against the spirit's chest with his other fist.

"No! Stop lying to me! Every word you speak is a lie!" He stopped suddenly. He let his legs collapse from under him, the _yaoguai's_ slacken grip not able to hold him up. He landed on his hands and knees, the tears falling from his eyes as he stared at the floor. "Every word you speak…" he repeated slowly. He could feel his soul crushing under the revelation.

The _yaoguai_ knelt to Yao's level.

"Where…are my brothers and sisters?" Yao dared to question.

The _yaoguai's_ face was still bearing that small sad smile. It was almost pitying. "They're here at the house. You can still be the hero and save them."

With the last of his depleting energy and will, Yao looked up at the _yaoguai_ , looked up at the creature with the now pure black changshan and tattered brown cloak and large straw hat and thick curled horns and ash-black hair but still stunning blue eyes and asked, "Did you kill them?"

The small smile on the _yaoguai's_ face grew into a cold grin as he replied, "Of course I didn't." And with that he stood and walked out of the house as Yao's head fell to the ground, his gaze catching briefly before fading to darkness the red-stained tip of a sickle's blade poking out just underneath the table.


	30. ((Player Has Joined))

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. All credit to creepypastas has been given to their respective owners. If a story has been credited to an anonymous person and you know/are the author, please let me know so I can make the correction (and be honest). Thank you!**

* * *

Iceland shivered involuntarily at the conclusion of the tale. That…had been a lot grimmer than he had anticipated. Denmark let out a low whistle. "Dang. So glad yaoguai's aren't real." He glanced mischievously at the Icelandic. "Well…seems you're the last one, Icy."

Iceland blushed. "W-what? Why should I have to go? Who said I wanted to tell a creepypasta?" Admittedly, he knew there was no way he could match up to China's story. He wasn't much of a storyteller anyways.

"It's only fair," stated Norway.

"Fair to whom? I made no agreement to even participate."

"But this has been fun!" grinned Moldova.

"You were the original speaker for the meeting," stated Taiwan.

"It's only right you end it," chuckled India.

"And it's not like we'd let you leave without telling a creepypasta," Monaco turned to him.

"Because we all want to hear what you have to say," nodded Vietnam.

"Remember, it doesn't have to be long," New Zealand reminded him.

"Or scary," Thailand added.

"But it should be entertaining," smirked Cyprus.

"Something fitting for this event," agreed Romania.

"I, like, doubt we're ever going to do something like this again," Poland reasoned.

"I can't think of why we would," Cuba admitted.

"So why not make this something worth remembering?" smiled Bulgaria.

"Please?" asked Liechtenstein.

"Alright!" shouted Iceland, "If it will make you all happy and end this stupid meeting…"

* * *

 **(( _Player Has Joined_ ))**

 **Based off of "The Cell Phone Game" and "Alternate 21328"  
Credited to its anonymous author**

Call me Ice. I know it's a stupid name, but I don't feel safe yet to disclose my real name. The story I'm about to say may seem, well, unbelievable (even I didn't take it completely seriously at first), but trust me, the lessons I'm about to impart could probably save your life one day.

It happened when I was in my first year of high school. I just moved to a new town so, of course, I was the strange new kid that no one wanted to let into their clique. I wasn't even surprised that no one wanted to learn my name. That was fine. I walked down the halls with bag hanging loosely on my back, trying to ignore everyone. I was used to being the lone wolf, even at my old school. It wasn't anything to get upse—

"Hiya!" I jumped at the volume of the boy who bounced right in front of me out of the blue. "You're that new guy, aren't you? Pleased to meet you! Believe me, I know how scary it can be trying to fit in. You want a tour?" I was so stunned by his exuberance that I failed to respond in a timely manner. "Are you mute?"

"Wh-wha—no," I mumbled.

"That's great!" The boy grabbed my arm and pulled me into a classroom. He led me to a desk near the back of the room. I slowly took the seat. He flopped down at his desk, spinning around to grin at me. "My name is…"

(Sorry, but for security purposes, I have to give everyone aliases.)

"…is Den. What's yours?"

"Ice," I answered. Den smiled broadly again.

"Cool. So where are you from, Ice?"

"Er, um…" At that point another boy approached us. His cool blue eyes skimmed over me briefly before he took his seat beside Den.

"Who are you?"

"Orwa, this is Ice. He's the new guy here." The pale-haired boy sighed and turned forward. Den smiled at me, giving me a thumbs up.

"Don't worry, he likes you too." I never got that impression at all. But amazingly, would you believe the three of us became friends after that? At least I considered us friends. Den always greeted me every day, and over time I learned Orwa's frosty demeanor was just a front. The boy was a lot nicer once he warmed up. They were actually some pretty decent guys.

They were the ones to get me acquainted with the students of this school. Without them I'd have been lost and alone for maybe another month or two. And, admittedly, having friends was nice. I enjoyed their company, hung out with them after school, and even celebrated some of their birthdays with them. I remember giving Orwa a pocketknife and Den a Swiss army knife for their birthday presents (I couldn't afford anything more expensive that they might have liked).

Anyway, it was during the second school term of that year when I was introduced to the Chain Game. And it was by another blond haired loudmouth I befriended no less. "Dudes! Check this out!" He raised up his cell phone to all those sitting at the lunch table with him. The seven of us stared.

"Eric!" King yelped, green eyes widening in alarm, "That's not—"

"Sure is!" He lowered his voice so only we could hear. "I got chained!" He was excited for some reason. And that reason clearly worried the others.

"No way," uttered Den.

Orwa stared in shock at the phone.

"This is serious, Eric," Bel whispered, her brother Net nodding and looking uncharacteristically unnerved.

"You're not going to forward it, right?" asked Aiwa. I was the only one who was utterly confused.

"What's the big deal about a text?" Seven pairs of eyes now turned to me.

"Have you never heard of the Chain Game?" Eric questioned.

"Would I be asking if I had?" I pointed out. He conceded to that.

Den, usual grin no longer on his face, stared down at the table. "It's not something you should really know about. But the Chain Game is something that's been around at this school for a few years. It's died down a bit these last couple of months, which is why you probably never heard of it."

"It's a game of death," Orwa said bluntly. I choked on my food. "No one knows how it started. But there was one day when a student at this school received a mysterious text message. Weeks later the student never showed up. No one could find her body. The police found no trail or clues to her. She's long since presumed dead."

I scoffed. "Heh. I never thought this school to be one to have its own urban legend."

"It's the truth." I blinked at Den. "That student's brother is in our year. That's how we learned of it." Now I was curious.

"Who is it?"

No one seemed eager to answer my question. Then, tentatively, Aiwa spoke. "Russ." Russ? That tall crazy kid who always wore a scarf? That might explain his personality. I just thought he was naturally psychotic, bullying others until they ran away in fear from him, but losing a sister all of sudden with no explanation would probably drive me insane over time too. I made sure to steer clear of his path whenever I saw him. "His sister Raine was the first to go missing at this school. Since then three others have vanished but many have gotten the text."

"So what exactly happens when you get 'chained'?" I looked up at Eric.

"One of three things," he answered straightforwardly, "You can either forward the message, find the original sender, or locate your shield item."

"Shut up!" hissed King, "You shouldn't be telling him anything! This isn't something to fool around with. This is dark magic at work; the less people know of it the better."

"You think everything bad is related to dark magic," retorted the other, "Besides, if he got the text from somebody else and had no idea what to do with it, he'd probably ignore it and wind up like Raine." That was true; a strange message from somebody I didn't know wouldn't have earned a second thought from me as I deleted it. "I'm trying to prepare him." King didn't at all looked convinced, but he only responded with an unintelligible grumble before crossing his arms, still glaring at him.

"So it's an elaborate scavenger hunt?" I asked. Bel bit her lip.

"Sort of," she answered, "if you choose to find the original sender or your shield item. But everyone we know who's played the game always goes for the latter first. If you find your shield before the week is up, then you're protected from whatever it is that kills the players who don't. But there's a cost for finding your shield: you must carry it with you at all times, and it will cause constant suffering."

"A double-edged sword," I said. She nodded. "Why doesn't anyone look for the original sender?"

"Original sender is a slight misnomer," stated Net, "It's referring to the person who started the game, not the one who directly sent you the text. The Chain Game has been around for at least two years, but that's only at this school. For all we know, the original sender could be someone who never attended and just got a student's number to text."

I nodded, commenting in agreement with that claim. "So if I understand correctly, you can find your shield to save yourself or the original sender."

"Finding the sender will end the game," King clarified.

"Got it. So I'll take it forwarding the text will extend the time you have to accomplish either of these?"

Orwa scowled. "Yes, but only by three extra days per person. And only a selfish low-life would dare enter an innocent person into the game."

"But judging on the mere concept of it, most people involved were innocent to begin with." I looked curiously at them. "How do you all know so much about it then if Eric just now got involved?"

"Who said we weren't already involved?" It took a second for me to register Den's whispered words.

"Huh?"

He pulled back the collar to his shirt, revealing underneath a thick choker with incredibly sharp studs along its sides—both outside and in.

"Your neck is bleeding!" To be fair, it wasn't actively bleeding. But the brown-red crisscrossing streaks running down his neck weren't that old. I stared in alarm at Den.

"You get used to it," he grinned darkly. I couldn't believe it. Happy-go-luck Den was a player in the Chain Game? And he'd already been forced to find his shield? By the looks of how tightly bound it was, it must have hurt just to use his throat. And this guy was always talking and laughing. Den jerked his head toward Net. "And I'm not the only one."

The tall boy across from him sighed and pulled out a long pipe from his pocket, a pipe I sometimes caught him smoking on between periods when the teachers weren't looking. "Our grandfather's pipe," he muttered, "I had no choice but to steal it from the family storeroom. It's our father's last relic of him. But I have to smoke from it every few hours for it to protect me. And as we all know," he chuckled without an ounce of humor, "smoking is bad for you."

"Now's not the time for joking," his sister scolded, though her words carried hardly any venom. She mumbled, "I know it pains you hurting father like this." Her brother shrugged.

"Which is why I plan to end this," Eric told me, his tone completely serious. "I've already been researching everything I could about this game, been to forums and websites all over. Nobody's ever found the original sender for our game, but several senders in other places have been located and apprehended. Those who've found their sender say there's a clue to their identity, their location, practically their life's history in the attached message. All you have to do is crack the code."

"Can I see it?"

Eric handed me his phone, and for whatever reason, I had the impression I was being given a cursed relic. The warm plastic in my hand felt inexplicably heavy in my grip. I could read the message on Eric's screen clearly now. (( _Player has joined._ )) What an odd message. But I scrolled down to see the attachment. Clicking the link, a white page popped up, it filled entirely with lines upon lines of random numbers, letters, and even symbols. Unable to make heads or tails of any of it, I readily gave back the phone.

The bell rang, signaling the end of our lunch hour, and so we packed our things and went to class. I remember being unable to focus on any of the lessons that day and even being in a half-aware state once school ended. I was just going over everything I learned during lunch, wondering why Den never brought the Chain Game up before, why Eric was so eager to become a player himself. I was paying so little attention to my surroundings that I bumped into the one person I never wanted to meet while exiting the building's front.

"Hmph," snorted the towering giant. His cold, almost bored eyes leered down at me. "What is it that you want?"

"Nothing, Russ," I muttered, already backing away. The boy put on a childish grin, and he reached out and grabbed my arm before I could get away.

"The exit's this way," he sneered, forcefully pulling me forward. When I tried to run, he only gripped me harder. "Don't you want to go home?"

"N-not that way." When I couldn't break free I raised my voice, hoping to catch a passing teacher's attention. "Let go of me, Ru—" Russ shoved me away before I could finish. I clumsily regained my balance before I could fall.

"I'd leave now if I were you," the boy growled. Then he hurried out of the door before any witnesses could show up. Only too eager to take the advice, I raced down some side hallways to exit out through the side.

I would like to point out that I learned of the Chain Game on a Wednesday. When Tuesday rolled around I had nearly forgotten about it, only remembering now and again when I spotted Den laughing loudly with the others or caught Net smoking behind the school. It was evident all but Eric wanted nothing more to do with the game.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long until every single one of us was involved one way or another.

That Tuesday morning I heard a loud commotion from down the hall. It sounded like two people arguing…two familiar people. Intrigued, I headed over to investigate. Turning the corner I could see King hovering around Eric as the latter grabbed his books from his locker, trying desperately to ignore his companion. A few students were giving them uncertain glances as I approached.

"You could have been looking for your shield this entire week! You idiot! Now you don't have any time left!"

"I still have time!" Eric yelled back, "Just…stop worrying, why don't you? I have until tomorrow night. I'll find my shield with plenty of time to spare. Both Den and Net found theirs in a day."

"They were lucky," argued the other, "I recall you telling me how other players barely found their shields before the full week was up. You could very well be the same way, and you already used up six of your days." Eric gave no reply as I neared. He looked up at me.

"Hey Ice."

"Ice!" King rushed to me before I could open my mouth. "Tell Eric to forget his search!"

"Don't you dare drag him into this." I glanced at the taller blond. It was now I could see how haggard he looked: noticeable black bags under tired and bloodshot eyes, unkempt hair, and paling skin. And I'm pretty sure those were even the same clothes from the previous day. "Ice has nothing to do with this. The fewer involved the better." He stormed off, leaving me with a conflicted-looking King.

"That git," King swore.

"He still hasn't decoded the text I'll take it."

"No! And I'm worried he won't have any time left to search for his shield. He's so determined to save our friends' lives he's neglecting his own. He's trying to be a hero, but what use is a dead hero?" I could understand his sentiment but, if I were completely honest, I thought they were both being overdramatic. Wasn't this all some stupid cell phone game? I turned with King, ready to head to our first period class when I spotted Russ spying on us. He was behind the door of his own locker, but I didn't miss how he hastily looked away when I faced his direction. How much of their conversation had he listened in on?

I had a creeping unease all the way until lunch hour, where I once again saw King and Eric bickering. They had taken their argument to another table, so the rest of us couldn't hear what they were saying.

"Eric needs to worry about his shield, not us," growled Net.

"Why not find his shield then go back to decoding the text?" I asked. Den groaned.

"The text is deleted once the week is up. Neither Net nor I is able to forward it, but we still have to keep our shields. As long as the game continues, we are still considered players."

"This is ridiculous," said Aiwa, toying with her food, "It's bad enough four students already died. We don't need another."

Orwa agreed. "I suspect the original sender is someone from this school or perhaps an alumnus. After all, only those who've been targeted in this area attended this school." He glanced toward an upset Eric. "I've been doing a bit of research myself. Last night I've found some useful information." The five of us perked up and leaned in close. "From all the accounts I read it seems the original sender must have some connection to the players they text. Since Raine was the first victim, it must have been someone she knew. But the older students claim she was a girl with no enemies."

I put the pieces together before he even needed to say it. "Who then would want to target her, a faultless girl?"

"Only someone who knew her more private life," Orwa leered to the side. I followed his gaze across the cafeteria to Russ, the boy not so much as trying to hide his stare toward us. When he saw me looking he put on one of his fake smiles and faced forward.

Yeah. He wasn't suspicious at all.

Despite the concern for my friends' well-being, the Chain Game was still more of a nuisance than an actual fear. Raine, after all, was 1, someone I never met and 2, related to Russ. Her 'death' didn't affect me like it did the others. But my opinions changed the very next day when three terrifying things happened.

First was Eric and King again in an argument. But this time it was Eric enraged with King, the latter constantly looking away and taking in Eric's yells with stride. What had happened in the course of a day for this change? Den asked as much.

"This _guy_ —" Eric wanted to say something fouler, but a teacher walked by at that particular moment, "—stole my phone yesterday when I wasn't looking! He forwarded the text to himself!" The girls gasped like they were in a drama movie; the rest of us merely glared at King.

"He was going to run out of time," he defended himself, "I just gave him a couple more days to find his shield."

"But now you have to find your shield too!" Eric grabbed his friend by the shoulders. "Did you even _think_ before forwarding it!? Your life's at risk too!" King looked unconcerned, but his eyes reflected his true feelings. He was scared. And I'll admit I was scared for him. For all of them. The others did all they could to console the two, and it was at that point I swore I'd look up more about this Chain Game if only to free my closest friends from this horrible game.

The second thing to happen was me finding Aiwa crying profusely behind the school during the transition from fourth period to fifth. In truth, I would have completely missed her had I not seen her silhouette for a brief second leaving from behind the exit door. I went out to see her curled in the tiny space between the door and the wall, her arms wrapped around tucked legs. "What happened?" I asked. She jumped and looked up at me with watery, puffy eyes.

"I-i-it's my brother, Chin," she hiccupped, "H-he…he got the t-text."

I could hardly react. Aiwa's brother was now a player? "When?"

"This morning." The tears were beginning to well back up. "B-but I think it w-was for me. Our phone numbers a-are so similar, only one d-digit off. I-I-I think the person put in his number w-when they meant mine!" And she burst into fresh tears, blaming herself that now her brother was probably going to get killed. It took several long minutes to calm her and convince her to see the school counselor. I didn't care much if I was considered tardy; the counselor had written me a pass. But I was growing concerned for my friends' safety.

Then, right as school ended, the third terrifying thing happened.

Orwa and Bel showed me their phones. And I saw two identical copies of (( _Player has joined_.))

It was then I knew someone was definitely targeting us. It was only a matter of time before I was forced into playing as well.

I went to confront the problem myself after school.

"I know it's you, Russ." The large boy, on his way out the school doors, turned around slowly to face me.

"Come again?"

I glared right back into his narrowed eyes. "I'm well aware of you dragging my friends into the Chain Game. You're upset with me, aren't you, and trying to hurt me through them?"

"Oh?" he grinned deceptively, maliciously, "And what makes you think it was my doing? Did you consider that maybe they're just unlucky?"

"There's no one else as familiar with the Chain Game."

"Lots of students know of it," Russ shrugged, "Your scared little brain is trying to pin the misfortune on me. You have no proof I was the one who sent those texts." When I had no immediate counter he chuckled. "You're a pathetic boy. Why don't you go running back to your equally pathetic group of friends. Maybe help them find their shields before they kick the bucket themselves." He laughed again. My anger rose. Nobody insulted my friends.

"Yeah, I'm going to help my friends. Unlike you who couldn't even help his sister." He whipped around the moment those words left my lips. His eyes were widened with astonishment, anger, and, I believe, fear.

"What did you say?" he uttered quietly. I had struck a nerve I was not supposed to touch. I took a tentative step back, realizing too late my mistake in confronting Russ alone. "What did you say!?" he yelled, one of his strides easily compensating two of my steps back. I spun around and bolted before he could get any closer. I heard heavy footsteps chasing behind. I skidded around the corner and dashed down the empty hallway. I cursed my luck that there was never any teachers present when I actually needed them. I could hear Russ gaining, so I sprinted down a smaller corridor. Be sheer dumb luck I could see Aiwa talking with a boy I presumed to be her brother.

The two of them heard me running toward them. I slowed as I neared them, catching my breath.

"Ice? What's wrong?" Aiwa asked, eyes reflecting her concern. Her brother simply stared at me in confusion.

"R…Russ…" I huffed, "I might have ticked him o—"

I didn't even hear him, let only prepare myself for the sudden blow to the back of my head. The next thing I knew I was waking up on the floor. I wasn't knocked out for long; Aiwa and Chin were still there, Aiwa crying for help and Chin standing protectively between Russ and the two of us. But it was obvious he'd stand little chance if Russ decided to make an actual attempt to hurt me further.

"…know what he's getting himself into," I heard Russ snarl before he saw me stir. I had never seen such ferocious eyes directed towards me in my life. He spun on his heel. "And don't even think of trying to enter me into the Chain Game. I will know it was you, and I _will_ end you." He flipped his scarf as he walked away.

The following two weeks were mostly a blur. But I remember them being probably the greatest days the entire school year. All of my friends were able to find their shields, though not without some setbacks.

"It was like it called out to me and told me what to do with it," said Eric, showing us his shield. It was a cilice clamped tightly around his right arm. Tender red skin threatened to tear if he moved too quickly. He hissed as he lowered his sleeve. "King and I don't even know why it was by the train tracks. We suspect maybe it was placed there…or was another player's shield before they perished."

"I'm just glad you found it in time," murmured Bel. I nodded. Eric would live; it'd be a painful existence, but it beat the alternative. But now Eric couldn't continue his research into the game, or at least not at the same pace. He was greatly handicapped now.

"What about you?" Orwa questioned King. At this Eric smirked halfheartedly.

"Get this," he said, "King managed to find a way to survive without having to find his item." He grabbed his friend's wrist, showing the strange intricate circle etched in permanent marker on the back of his hand.

"And that is?"

"Dark magic," muttered King, jerking his hand away as he answered me. "I figured why not fight fire with fire. Turns out it was for naught."

"How so?" wondered Den, "You're alive."

"I'm past the expiration for me finding my shield. The moment a single symbol on this circle gets washed away or smeared, whatever steals the players for failing to find their item will come for me. I'm constantly having to make sure nothing touches my hand."

"How did you know that would work?" Net asked.

"Someone on the forum I frequent told us a couple weeks ago," answered Eric in his stead. "They're actually the one who founded the site, and the two of us work together to gather all available information about the game. We owe a lot to that guy."

"And what about you two?" I turned toward Orwa and Bel. The former also held up his hand, showing the same circle.

"King informed me of this solution the day before my time was up," he spoke softly.

"As for me, this is my shield." Bel lifted her leg onto the seat next to her and lifted a pant legging. A thin metal band was wrapped just above her ankle, the edges of it cutting into her skin but not yet causing any bleeding. "It used to be an old toy my cousins would slap across my arm, but it always hurt and I hated them for it. Who'd have thought it'd come in handy in sparing my life years later?"

I looked at Aiwa. "And your brother?"

Aiwa turned her gaze down. "We came very close to the deadline, but we managed to find his shield in time. I'd rather not discuss what it is; it's quite painful for him, physically and emotionally." If it had anything to do with why he had started limping some days ago then I had no interest in learning the details of his torture.

But I couldn't let the events of the Chain Game go. My friends were all suffering, and a tiny part of me rationalized it was all my fault. I was the one who antagonized Russ. And I would have to make up for that.

It was a safe bet that Russ was the original sender. He had been spying on us, so he had probably started to panic when he realized we were trying to end his game. Him threatening me was his way of keeping me from confronting him any further. And as I had said he was the only other student tied to this game even more so than we were.

But even if he were the original sender, he would also have to have a protective item of his own. He was a player like the rest of us. So what would be his item? It didn't take more than two guesses to figure it out: his scarf. After some questioning from Den and Orwa I was correct in my assumption it had some connection with his sister. As it turns out that scarf was a gift given to Russ by Raine. Wearing it was a torture in itself; he was forced to bear the memories of being unable to save her from her tragic fate.

If I couldn't confront Russ through normal means, then I would have to take matters into my own hands to save my friends.

Two nights after our discussion I found myself sneaking through Russ's back yard with Orwa. I had told the others about my plan, but none seemed interested in joining me. In fact, Orwa openly admitted he would tag along only to make sure I didn't end up hurting myself. I was pleased to have someone come with me but also hurt in that no one seemed interested in stopping this game. I was the only one not chained and yet I was the one most determined to help them. Did they really think not acknowledging it would make it stop? I couldn't accept that.

It was past seven in the evening; I had spent days trying to study the patterns of Russ's family. His sister and mother had left the house like clockwork about a half hour earlier– for what reason I neither knew nor cared. His father wouldn't be home for another hour at the latest. My window to act was going to be short even in the best of circumstances.

When I was sure it was just Russ in the house Orwa and I crept to the back window. It was by good fortune I discovered it to be unlocked when his mother opened it to let in fresh air in the afternoons. We snuck inside the house and tiptoed quietly up the stairs. After peering through the cracks of several doors we finally stumbled upon Russ's room.

The boy was engrossed with his computer. We walked as silently as we could behind him; he didn't even sense our presence. When I was sufficiently close enough I yanked his scarf. Not enough to pull it away completely, but enough so that only a third was still touching him. I was admittedly a bit shocked why someone would have their shield attached so loosely to their person, but that thought quickly left my mind when Russ reflexively reached for the cloth and spun around in utter shock. "What is—?"

"Cut the bullcrap, Russ. We know you're the original sender. End this game now!" I wasn't going to give him the chance to stand (my and Orwa's lives would be in serious danger if he did). Russ did try to rise, but when he saw the unsheathed pocketknife in Orwa's hand he reconsidered.

"You still believe I'm the original sender?" he seethed, "I told you I had nothing to do with this game."

"Then care to tell us why you were spying on our group? Or why it wasn't until after our confrontation that my friends were chained?" Russ's eyes shifted warily between Orwa and me.

"…It was just a coincidence." His meek accuse sounded truly lame. I pulled tighter on the scarf.

"Tell us the truth."

"I am." He looked at me, his expression a befuddling mix of hatred and defeat. "I admit to the spying, but I wasn't the one to enter your friends into the Chain Game. It must have been another student."

"Which student?" Orwa asked.

"And how should I know?" Russ snapped at him. "I'm not the only one outside of your little band of misfits who knows of the game. Try holding someone else at knifepoint if you want answers."

"But you have reason to get us involved," I said, "You want revenge for your sister's death."

"And you are spouting the most ignorant, unintelligent nonsense that comes off your tongue. I'm sure even Eric would have more insight than you right now." He snorted. "Why don't you imbeciles leave now. I won't call the cops if you just forget about this whole Chain Game whatnot and leave me alone." He glared at me. "Though you'll still have to pay in some way for breaking into my home."

Orwa gritted his teeth. "Let's go, Ice. He doesn't know anything about this it seems."

I wanted to agree with him. But I just couldn't believe a single word out of Russ's mouth. He was involved with this somehow; my gut kept telling me so.

So I pulled.

Russ roared and barreled into me before I could move. I was shoved into Orwa, and the both of us wrestled to get the behemoth of a boy off of us, my hand still clutching the scarf in a fist. We rolled around on his floor, banging into the desk and bed before finally Russ found his feet. He stood with me still holding the scarf. The last of it fluttered off his shoulders.

The lights in the room dimmed to an almost pure black. I shivered as the temperature dropped to chilling levels. Russ stumbled back, gazing around with wide, terrified eyes. His scarf was completely removed, but I could still see something around his neck. Something thin. Something yellow. It looked like a headband.

An unearthly shriek shattered the quiet, almost shaking the whole room. Dread crept over me as I looked at the door. "Get away from there!" Russ's yell was so sudden and so full of fright that Orwa and I obeyed without any hesitation. I scrambled to the other side of the room just as a gigantic _thing_ swept into the room like a gale of shadows. I could not tell whether it was a creature made of air or flesh, but it was black, obscured mostly by the shadows in the room. It was long and wide, like some sort of fat worm with appendages and a face. And it was large. As it reared, its neck craned downward and its bloodshot eyes took its time roving over us, none of us able to move. It focused on Russ and sniffed deeply, an action that seemed to suck out most of the air in his bedroom. For once I actually feared for Russ's life; he was going to be killed because I removed his shield.

But, to my horror, the monster slowly averted its eyes from him and focused them instead on Orwa. My normally indifferent friend couldn't have looked more terrified for his life if he tried. The shadowy creature leaned closer to him. And it was then I could see the mark on Orwa's hand had been altered; it wasn't by much but it had smeared the tiniest bit from when we were fighting on the floor.

The monster shot a thin, clawed hand toward my friend. He responded in kind by rolling to the side. But with as little space as there was on the floor he had no effective way to escape. Another second and he was caught in the thing's grip.

"ORWA!" I shouted, but I was too scared to do anything. But Russ wasn't.

As the monster pulled and Orwa clung tightly to the bed's leg, Russ took a leap and a half to reach me and shoved me toward the other two. "Do you treasure your knife?" he asked Orwa hurriedly. For a split second my friend gave the boy a look of pure incredulity, but a yank from the monster brought him back to his senses.

"Y-yes. It's a gift from him."

"And you treasure his life?" he asked me.

"Of course!" I blurted out. Even without much thought behind it, I knew it was the truth.

"Perfect." And he wrenched Orwa's hand from the bed, the one still somehow holding the knife, and slammed it toward me. I felt merciless steel bite into my face, and I wheeled back in pain, screaming. My left eye had become completely useless. I swore profusely at Russ, ready to grab the very knife that blinded me and jam it through his chest when I sensed the creature falter. Russ had placed the gory knife back in Orwa's hand and forced his fingers to close around it. My friend looked too sick to even touch the weapon.

"Acknowledge the forced shield item," Russ glared at the shadow monster, "A friend's blood was spilt over it" The towering demon growled deeply. After what felt like an eternity did it finally, begrudgingly, back out of the room. The second its unnatural red eyes disappeared around the hallway corner, the lights radiated brightly, washing the room in warm light that was almost blinding to my remaining eye. As I sat there in a stupor, blood and tears caking my face, Russ let out a threatening growl of his own. "You, Ice, have no absolutely idea what you're dealing with." I looked around and opened my mouth. "GET OUT!" he shouted before I could hope to utter a sound, "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE!"

I didn't argue. Orwa was already on his feet and he half lifted me, half dragged me to the door. We stumbled through the house. It was disorienting making it to the window we climbed in with only half my depth perception. But I was even more worried about Orwa. His face was white as chalk, and I could tell he wanted desperately to throw the knife that mutilated my face as far away as possible. But with it now his shield he had no choice but to carry with him forever the cursed item.

The next month was horrible for me. I had to lie to my parents about my "accident". I claimed I had a very nasty fall through a littered alley while walking with Orwa. I doubt they ever bought it, but they couldn't prove I was lying so the truth was never pressed for. I spent weeks at the hospital getting an artificial eye and adjusting to life with limited sight. And not once did I forget about that night at Russ's house, about the monster that almost snatched one of my closest friends away.

A month later and I was back in school. None of my friends could look me in the face for longer than a few seconds, least of all Orwa who, I thought, was too ashamed to even speak to me. But I brought all of this upon myself. He was not the one to wound me; Russ was.

Speaking of whom…

Two days after my return to school, I found Russ. Or rather he found me. And slammed me into some lockers on my way to lunch. "You are so lucky I decided not to call the authorities," he smiled devilishly at me before shoving me away. "You'd be all alone in that prison cell if I had." And then he left, just like that, dropping a slip of paper as he went. At first I was tempted to mention the paper he dropped, but it slowly dawned that it was no accident he forgot it. Picking it up, all that was written on it was an address to a website. Forgoing the cafeteria I headed for the library.

And that's when I learned everything about the Chain Game. That address led me to a forum of sorts where hundreds of users gathered. It turns out the Chain Game is an ancient ritual that's been perfumed all around the globe since the first advanced human civilization emerged, called many different names, requiring ever-changing rules to adapt to the evolving world. I was almost overwhelmed by all the first-person accounts of people who played this game, all of them with unique and horrifying stories to tell of their search for their shield items.

Two users in particular seemed to be the ringleaders, with one of them almost always directing the conversations and the other making notes on updating the site with new information. That evening I registered onto the site, determined to find absolutely everything I could about the game if only to make up to Orwa for everything.

After exploring it for some time, I was unexpectedly contacted by the website's founder. He told me a few things about the site, introducing me to a few admins and moderators, before redirecting me to a private server where we could chat live. I had a suspicion of who it was but decided to play dumb and asked if he ever heard of the story of a girl disappearing from my school a few years back. I gave him the information and he replied almost instantly: yes, he had heard from one of the moderators about a girl dying from there after playing the Chain Game.

I asked if someone told him the full story, then went into details about why I wanted to know. I tried to sound as ignorant as I could when I told them about a bully at school and his connection to her as well as my attempts to break into his house to forcibly end the game. For extra measure I even tried to make losing an eye seem like a heroic sacrifice. It took a while for me to get a reply (I figured he was too busy either laughing or raging over my stupidity). At last he responded, and his message was as follows:

 _If you go to that school then you should already know the girl's name is Raine._

 _And she deserved to die._

 _Her family came from some place where no one heard of the Chain Game. She went out with a guy and learned of it through him. Thinking it a funny joke she forwarded the text to many friends back in her old country. A week later she, her younger brother, and her little sister learned of her friends' mysterious disappearances, all within a single night._

 _She tried to make it stop, but the boy she dated offered no help. He was also a player and used her to gain more time to find his shield item. So she stole it one day during school, hoping to make it hers. But she didn't know shields can't be passed along like that, and he died that night._

 _She searched high and low for her shield but never could find it. She and her siblings researched ways to find it but only learned the shield does not always make itself obvious nor is it always something small and insignificant. It is something that tears at the player emotionally, not physically, though shields causing physical pain are the most common._

 _As the days passed she became more desperate. She forwarded the text to all the friends she knew. They disappeared. She forwarded the text to the friends her brother knew. They disappeared. She forwarded to the friends her sister knew. They disappeared. Twice she forwarded to extended members of the family. One of them had the extreme fortune of knowing of the game before their time was up and was saved. The other had no such luck._

 _After two months her time was nearly up again. On her final night, having said to have given up and accepting her fate, she took her siblings out as a treat, lying that she had a little less than a week left. Six days after that night to be precise. But she lost track of time. Heading home through a dark playground, the three were confronted by a demon. When it tried to take her away, she did the unthinkable. She forwarded the text to her brother in a desperate attempt to save herself. But her time was already up; the demon came to collect. She was dragged away into the darkness, but her brother was still to become a player._

 _The story's end is sad but not dark. The brother found his shield item the very night he lost his sister. Her hair band had fallen off. While she had been heartless during her time playing the Chain Game, she had been a warm and gentle soul before. It hurt him that part of her would be forever lost. Her kindness led her to have many friends in their former land, something the brother desperately wanted himself. And while they struggled to make new ones in this country, she had by far the most success. But now she had none, whether she had lived that night or not. And while she did do everything in her power to find her item, she ultimately forsake friendship for her own selfishness. So he too had to bear that. His shield cursed him to make no friends and to lament on a future he could no longer have._

 _I hope this answers your most pressing questions, Ice._

I haven't tried to mess with the Chain Game after that. There've been too many lives ruined; there're too many secrets to even start to try and unravel. Everything I know doesn't make up the tip of the metaphorical iceberg. This is a game for devils; we humans can't even begin to comprehend its true purpose other than to cause pain and misery. I joined with Eric to try and solve some of its mysteries, but lately we have made little progress. Our last year in high school is almost up, but I hope to stay connected with all of my friends even after graduating and going to a university overseas.

I'm hoping this message makes it to the right people. Perhaps leaving my story on some random site isn't the smartest idea, but someone needs to know. The authorities are useless in this matter, I would know from personal experience and from the hundreds of first-person accounts worldwide. But my friends are still bound to the game. King still hasn't found his shield item, and it's becoming more and more difficult for Orwa to find excuses in having his knife with him at all times in school. We still don't know the original sender or who chained my friends. So if there's anyone who knows of anything, please tell me. And if not then at least you've been warned of a mere handful of dangers from playing the Chain Game. Please use the knowledge well.


	31. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters; those belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

* * *

Silence. Tense silence. Awkward silence. Iceland felt his cheeks heating up.

Then…a clap. A slow clap. From Denmark. This was followed by Norway, then by New Zealand, Romania, and eventually the entire room, complete with standing ovation.

"Y-you guys are so dramatic," mumbled the Icelandic, looking away from them in embarrassment.

"What are you talking about? That was really good!" said Moldova.

"I liked it a lot," nodded Liechtenstein.

"Not bad for your first time speaking in front of so many people," Cuba remarked, coming over to slap him on the back.

"Oh, that was your first time?" Belgium asked, "I would have never guessed it."

"Me neither," said Lithuania.

Iceland leered at the group of nations. "Seriously, knock it off."

Denmark laughed. "Okay, okay guys. Iceland wants us to cool it. But seriously," he smiled sincerely at the young nation, "That was a good creepypasta." As the other nations stood and made their way to the door, Iceland went to collect his completely forgotten notes still lying on the pedestal. He lamented on the fact that he never got to use them…but that didn't quite mean he was upset. Actually, on the whole, this evening had been a pretty nice evening with friends.

"Aren't ya' coming?" Denmark asked, him and Norway the only ones left.

Iceland grabbed his belongings and walked out of the room with them. "…Thank you," he spoke lowly as they headed down the hall.

The Dane nodded. "It was all good fun. And you at least enjoyed yourself."

"That's all that matters," agreed Norway, "Now we can head home."

Iceland made a noise of acknowledgment. "Yes," he said. Then frowned slightly. "But I am never doing that again. Ever."

* * *

 **And that's it for this year's Hetalian Creepypastas! Thank you so much for sticking with it until the end (especially after all the inconsistent updates and it actually being November when I finally finished this).** **I once again want to thank all of the creative authors out there whose stories I used to make this series; you guys are amazing! And thank you, readers and reviewers, for all for your support and patience; I know I wouldn't have made it without it.**

 **Be sure to check back tomorrow (November 13th a.k.a. World Kindness Day) for the newest Hetalia short-story compilation "Worlds of Love"!**


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